


calamity

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 27,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'til all that remains is the arms of the angels</p><p>or: varric/cassandra drabbles. porn and not porn. short and not short. always in style. i think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. she loves me, she loves me sometimes, she--

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is good with his hands, and makes flower crowns when he's bored. Cole observes, and a certain Seeker is interested in learning a new trade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLOWER CROWNS.

His hands work without thinking, sitting on the outskirts of camp and watching the fires die down. He can't see what he's twisting in his lap, but it happens all the same, a habit he got into when he was much younger, when he would make camp with his brother and spend hours awake, even after Bartrand had shouted at him to _go the fuck to sleep, Varric_ \-- and then promptly collapsed. Varric didn't learn to make them from anyone, he just understood how to do it, and so, he does it. 

Cole is mesmerized.

"You have quick hands," he says, and Varric is surprised he didn't hear the Kid coming up beside him. "What is it, exactly?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's..." He glances down, lifts the thing in his hands and shrugs. "It's a flower crown." Cole blinks, and suddenly the thing is gone, sitting crookedly on top of Cole's hat. Varric chuckles and shakes his head. "No, you gotta take the hat _off_ first." Cole nods, and does as he's told, the hat sitting plainly between them while he puts the twist of flowers on his head. "There. Looks good, Kid."

"Did you make it for her?" Cole asks, glancing over in the camp. Trevelyan is standing at the center, chatting with the requisitions officer. Varric shakes his head. "No, not her." Cole points beyond the Inquisitor. " _Her._ "

Varric _chokes._

" _No_ ," he says hotly. "I didn't make the _Seeker_ a damn flower crown." He likes Cole well enough, but the way he gets under his skin is sometimes too much for Varric. He bristles. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you think about her, sometimes. You were thinking about her just now. You weren't even thinking about the flowers. You were thinking that Cassandra seemed tired and you wondered if she ever slept at all, and--"

"I think it's time for bed," Varric says loudly, and pushes himself off the ground.

"Do you want--"

"Keep it."

 

 

 

Cole's a good kid, and a smart one, too. He'd watched Varric make something for just a moment, and suddenly Skyhold is lousy with people finding flower crowns on top of their heads. The guards scramble to hide them, flustered and embarrassed and wondering who's caught their eye. Bull enjoys his, which turn up around either horn on a daily basis, so much so that he's begun collecting them. Sera keeps hers strung over her quiver and Dorian happily and proudly wears his on his head wherever he goes, cheerfully offering to liberate them from anyone who doesn't want their own.

Even Cassandra gets one. 

"They are rather pretty," she says, turning it over in her hands one evening in the tavern. "Cole is making them, is he not?"

"He is," Josephine says wistfully. "He is precious for such an oddity." 

"He learned to make them," Solas murmurs, borrowing Cassandra's for a moment. "The craftsmanship is observed, obviously. Cole's knowledge of the physical world grows with careful consideration of everything around him. He came into this world knowing only what he could do to help. Clearly, he thinks this is a part of that."

"Where would he _learn_ to make such a thing?" Josephine wonders, and places her own back on her head happily.

Varric keeps his face hidden behind his mug, because he's fairly certain someone at the table will read him. Or he's just paranoid. He isn't sure about _what_ \-- but there's something that twists a little inside of him when the Seeker takes the ring of flowers back and playfully models Josephine's own look. She laughs, a rare thing, Varric has realized, and finishes her wine. 

Across from him, Leliana is watching, and Varric pretends he doesn't see anything. Cole appears silently at the table, and suddenly Varric has a rather large twist of flowers sitting on his head. Josephine _giggles_ and Cole puts a hand on Varric's shoulder. "I saved the biggest one for you."

"That's very thoughtful," Varric says, giving in. It's better than anything he's ever done, he realizes with a smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"You seemed so calm when you were making them in the Hinterlands. It has helped," Cole says.

Solas looks up. "You watched Varric make them? That's where you learned?"

"Yes. We made camp and he was sitting and staring and--"

Varric sighs and finishes off his drink, adjusting the flower crown and bidding everyone goodnight. "Hey, Kid. Don't go giving away all my secrets, alright? Save some for afterparty."

"Yes, alright."

Varric nods and gets up from the table, making his way outside. It's a full moon tonight. He catches Trevelyan stealing her way down to the stables and smiles, absently heading toward his own room.

"Varric?" He turns and catches the Seeker crossing the grounds toward him with long strides. He stops and tips the crown toward her, and that makes her smile. Another rarity between them. "Surely _you_ of all people are not going to bed?"

"Me? No, of course not. I'll sleep when I'm dead, you know?" He shakes his head. "Just...heading for some quiet is all."

"Ah. I will not bother you, then."

"No, you're alright," he says quickly. "I--" Varric clears his throat and looks right up at her. "I don't mind."

They walk silently for a while, heading nowhere, really, until Cassandra says quietly, "I asked Cole to teach me to make the little things, but he says he cannot teach, he can only do. Or something."

"They're not hard."

"Would you teach me, then? He says I would find it...relaxing. To make something. He thinks I am too focused on breaking things apart, and if I were to build--"

"You, break things? Perish the thought."

Cassandra's voice is tired, but not unkind. "I know that I can be somewhat of a...storm. Sometimes."

"Only sometimes," Varric confesses. She smiles at him again. "Sure, I can teach you. Might have to lift some flowers from Mother Giselle's garden."

"Well, she's asleep at this time, so I don't think she'll really notice."

"Lady Pentaghast, I was _joking_."

She laughs. "You were _not_."

Varric gives in. "You're absolutely right. Come on, Seeker, let's go steal flowers and make pretty shit." 

 

 

 

Cassandra is very bad at tying the two ends together. So while Varric can easily tie them up and know what size would crown her head perfectly, the Seeker has created an obnoxiously long garland of flowers over the course of the last several days that nearly spans the length of Varric's room.

She doesn't seem broken up about it, though, and Varric rather enjoys her company and the scent of the flowers all mixed together. He doesn't say this, but he hopes his continuous invites let her know. 

"If you'd _practice_ knotting them together--"

"I prefer this," she says, and she isn't even really _being_ all that stubborn about it. There's a relaxed air about her, like when he's seen her with her hair down -- only once, on accident, in the Approach at sundown, when a windstorm caught her hair and whipped her braid apart and she stood there like a goddess in the desert with her sword drawn and a dead ghoul at her feet. 

Varric shakes off the memory, and places the strand of flowers in his hand on her head. "Perfect," he says.

She flushes, but Varric doesn't look away.

"Where did you learn to do this?" she asks, straightening the crown on her head.

"On my own, on trips with my brother. He teased me a lot about it, but it wasn't a big deal. I made things all the time. I had to, just to keep from going crazy sometimes."

"I understand the feeling," she says quietly.

"Sometimes, you know. The rest of the world, all the shit--"

"It can be a lot." Varric nods. "Thank you for showing me."

"Of course."

 

 

 

The first time he kisses her, she is practically wrapped in flowers, and the pressure between them is enough to force petals to the ground in a slow flutter. She sighs against him, and she smells like the earth, scented and whole and good. Varric cups her face in his hands, on his knees on the hard floor while she is leaning against the foot of the bed, flowers twisted in her lap and in her hair. He kisses her with a question behind it -- _How did we end up here?_ \-- and she kisses back with her own -- _Why does it matter?_

In his bed, she lets him undress her, but he doesn't touch the flowers, even though so many are crushed underneath them during the night, even though Varric wakes with petals in his hair and dangerously close to his nose. 

Cassandra plucks them from her braid one by one, until her hair is a mess, and she lets him untwist it from her head, and lay flowers on her stomach. 

Something to pass the time, it always was. To keep his hands moving, and his mind at ease.


	2. things i didn't say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor asks about Bianca, and gets metaphors instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do love Bianca. There's something about her sass. But my Varric/Cassandra heart is too strong for this world. You will find no Bianca-bashing 'round these parts, folks. //tips hat, is a god damn cowboy

She finds him drinking on the battlements, where she'd first met Hawke. Whether it's intentional or not, it obviously means something to Varric, who is sitting in the corner, turning a letter over in his hands while he drinks from a bottle. His eyes are still bright and clear, so he isn't drinking to forget, Evelyn assumes. He looks up and nods when she sits down, passing her the bottle. "That fade shit was weird." 

"That was _months_ ago, Varric."

"Guess I should feel lucky I got to go, you know?" he says, no hesitation. Evelyn realizes she and Varric had never even talked about it, that he'd steadfastly refused to discuss it with her beyond Hawke's death. And then Valammar happened, and Bianca happened -- and somewhere in the middle, something else entirely happened. Evelyn wonders if he was going to meet Cassandra here instead, and if she's interrupted something, but Varric doesn't say otherwise. 

Evelyn tips her head, takes a drink. " _Do_ you feel lucky?"

"Nope." 

They laugh together, and Evelyn leans over into his space and points to the letter. "Friend of yours?"

"It's from Bianca." A beat. "We haven't been together in ages, but...it felt like I should tell her something, at least."

"Is she upset?"

"She's...not happy. But she isn't surprised. The heart wants, as they say." He takes another drink. "It was doubtful after what happened that I would ever see her again anyway. They'll start a family soon, and I'll always be--" He stops, shakes his head. "She didn't ask me to wait. I made that decision. But you don't forget something that big, you know? Bianca was...she was big. She was a big part of a lot of things." He smiles. "She's my constellation." Evelyn takes the bottle, and he keeps going. "She moves in and out of my sky. And she's beautiful and she's _inspiring._ But...she goes. She can't be there, even when she wants to be. Stars and the shapes they make are beautiful, but they don't stay."

"You love her."

"I love...I love what we were. I care about her. I worry about her. I will always wonder if she's doing okay." He doesn't say what he probably wants to say, Evelyn suspects, but it's his story, so he'll tell it how he wants to. "Cassandra is a mountain."

"That's a pretty far cry from a star."

Varric laughs. "It is. But it's just the truth." He looks up and smiles. "You don't go to sleep and think, _I wonder if the mountain will still be there in morning._ It just is. It's unmovable. It takes _war_ to destroy a mountain, and even then--" He spreads his hands, palms facing up. "Still there." 

"Mountains are dangerous."

Varric leans forward, grinning. "Have you _met_ Cassandra?"

"I suppose you have a point," she says, leaning with him. 

They talk for a long while about so many other things. Varric tells they story of Bianca carefully, with great love, because she was a very _great_ love. "You don't get them too often," he murmurs, and seems to be lost in a memory, though Evelyn doesn't ask which one. "I think the Maker might be fucking with me." 

The bottle is empty now, so Evelyn stands, because there are a hundred things to do before she pretends to sleep, but this has been worth it. "He's fucking with us all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the shortest thing I've written in literal MONTHS


	3. items may shift during flight pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "this is a five hour long plane ride and we're sitting together and you're afraid of flying" au. varric/cassandra style.

_"Don't forget, folks, once we're all the way up there you'll wanna keep your seatbelts on, we're expecting some turbulence, so just hang in tight. And thank you again for flying Ferelden Air."_

Fuck Ferelden Air, is what Varric would like to say. 

Fuck everything in Ferelden, Varric fucking hates Ferelden. Varric hates Ferelden and Orlais and Antiva and don't get him fucking _started_ on Tevinter because he is hungry and cranky and he's been on an airplane for fifteen hours and he's going to kill whoever sits next to him because it's going to be that Qunari, he can already tell, and he doesn't have a damn thing against Qunari but this one's going to snore, like that elf on that trip to Nevarra -- and then the Qunari passes him by, and right behind him is this _woman_ , looking at the empty seat next to Varric, eight hundred miles of legs and hair like ink and what is probably a literal perpetual _scowl_ on her face.

Varric falls a little in love. Gets a little bit better. Thinks he might have a drink, once they're in the air.

She doesn't say anything as she shoves her duffel bag into the overhead bin and settles next to him, her arms folded tightly over her chest. She doesn't even _look_ at him and, okay, yeah, fine, two people can play that game. Varric busies himself finding a book to read in his carry-on, shoots off a message to one of his cousins that he'll be landing in Val Royeaux maybe sometime next century, who the hell knows. 

The line of passengers boarding the plane finally tapers off, and Varric feels the satisfied jolt of a full plane beginning to head down the runway. The woman looks like she might _die._

"You okay?" Genuine concern, honestly. He doesn't want vomit on his slacks.

"No. I hate flying."

"Bring something to read?"

"I doesn't help." The plane shudders as it prepares to take off and she says a prayer under her breath that Varric only just makes out, and he chuckles. " _What_ is so funny?"

"Nothing, I just...haven't heard that one in a while." His mother used to pray before the plane took off, and Varric doesn't think she was even Andrastian. Just superstitious. "These things are pretty safe." His own voice surprises him, a far cry from the pissed off dwarf that was waiting to tear someone apart. It seems to put her a little more at ease, though, until the plane finally lifts off the ground, and she grabs his hand so tightly, for a moment, he sees stars. She doesn't let go until the plane is in the air. She looks _mortified_.

"I am _sorry_ , I just--"

"Save your breath..."

"Cassandra.

"Right. Cassandra. Look, I've been flying since I was conceived. May have _been_ conceived on a plane--" Her nose wrinkles and he won't say it's cute, but it's cute. "Trust me. We'll be fine."

"I don't know you. I do not dole out trust."

"I'm Varric. You're Cassandra. Look, we're already friends."

She makes a noise, but Varric pretends it's endearing, and she's smiling when she does it all the same.

 

 

 

"It was not too late, I hope?"

"Of course not. By the time my brother gets there, they're putting things onto the back of the truck and he's absolutely _lost_ , you know. He's got a gun, don't know where he got it from, and he's shouting and losing his mind and I have to talk everyone down from murdering one another."

" _Maker_ , how did you manage that?"

"Ah, I uh..." Varric remembers why he doesn't tell this story, but goes on anyway. "I told them the truth. That seemed to calm down. And then the police showed up."

Cassandra raises an eyebrow, taking a sip from her little plastic cup of wine. "What was the truth?"

Varric looks straight ahead, tries to smile. "That my brother had been visiting from an institution, had opened my car door on the middle of the road, and figured out who'd been stealing all our cargo."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I forget the ending is less funny in the actual telling." Cassandra presses her lips together, looking across the aisle. "Sorry. Didn't mean to kill the mood."

"You didn't. I am only sorry that happened."

"Cargo can be replaced--"

"I meant about...about your _brother_ ," she says quickly, her cheeks flushing. Varric watches it crawl down her neck, watches her fingers twitch against her cup. "I lost my brother when I was a girl. He...it doesn't matter, I suppose, how he was lost. Not anymore."

"Only if you think it does."

She looks at him. "He was murdered. I was practically a child, still. A teenager. We were together, there was a bit of a commotion, some people who had wanted things from him that he could not give them. It happened so quickly, I--" Cassandra takes a breath and closes her eyes.

"You don't have to--"

"They killed him in front of me. There was no time, nothing I could do. I keep thinking, maybe if I had been quicker, or cleverer. But no, that would have solved nothing. It is a waste of time to blame myself."

"But you keep on doing it," Varric mutters, leaning back in his chair. He's talking to the both of them, and Cassandra knows it. She reaches up with a hand and calls the stewardess over.

"More wine, I think. And whiskey, for my friend."

 

 

 

By the time the flight lands, Varric is most certainly no longer sober, but he isn't alone, either. Cassandra stands resolutely next to him as they wait for a cab.

"Look, I know I'm just this dwarf you met on a flight to fucking _Orlais_ of all places, but--"

"Here." She hands him a card and Varric turns it over in his hands. "I would invite you to...to spend _time_ with me while I am here, but unfortunately--"

"You're shitting me."

"I don't understand your meaning."

Varric _laughs._ "Are you telling me that I shared a fucking plane with the right hand of the Divine the _whole_ damn way here?"

"If you did not notice, it was not my doing. It isn't a secret who I am."

"It is to me, apparently." Cassandra scowls at him, and Varric likes that. "Alright, alright. I won't blame you. Not while you're listening." She makes a noise and hefts her bag onto her shoulder as a cab approaches. "Care to share?" Varric asks, desperate for anything to draw this out. But she shakes her head.

"Not that I don't _want_ to, but I am to meet with several clerics before I check in to my hotel, I--"

"Say no more, Seeker Pentaghast." He looks at the card again and chuckles. "I'll make sure we meet again."

Cassandra throws the bag into the backseat of the cab and looks down at him. The sun is setting behind her head, and she's radiant in a way only people you hardly know can be -- all that mystery between you, but names. He knows who she is, what she does, and he knows very well what she believes. 

So it's a surprise, then, when she bends and presses her lips to his temple. A shock, even. 

Varric Tethras is rarely shocked.

"Yes, I'm sure you will."


	4. items may shift during flight pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because she is the storm and he is the unsuspecting coast--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some folks liked the first bit and i've been in a mood to write some NSFW stuff just because I can, so here you have the, ah, porny follow up to the first little airplane au thing. please enjoy.

_"The Chantry was shocked today by the unexpected passing of the Divine Justinia. Although she was almost eighty, reports have said that Most Holy was in relatively good health, and her sudden death has shaken the Chantry to its core."_

Varric looks up from his continental breakfast, smearing cream cheese past the edge of the bagel and right over his thumb. Any other day, he wouldn't have noticed, would have said to someone in passing, "How said, don't you think?" Any other day, Varric would have gone on with his life. 

Seeker Pentaghast's card burns in his wallet, igniting a concern in him he didn't know he had. 

" _Maker_." An older woman at the table next to him begins to cry while her husband tries to soothe her. Varric feels something turn over in his stomach -- he's Andrastian, he should _feel_ what this woman is feeling. But he can't. He doesn't. Not the same thing, anyway. Not what he _should_. He can only think of the Seeker, afraid of flying, sipping on wine and listening to his sob story about Bartrand, sharing her own private world with him in the cramped space of their seats, her brother's name on her tongue like a secret she cannot tell without consequence. 

Varric shudders, because he remembers her lips on his temple and he shouldn't.

 

 

"Maferath's _balls_." Varric's cousin is _livid_. Traffic in the city is hell, and Varric hasn't been able to get a cab for over an hour. "Forget it. Just fucking forget it."

"I came here to do business, I'm not _leaving_ without--"

"Varric, we'll do this _later._ I'm not sending the damn chopper after you--"

"That'd be a sight."

"Wife's all shook up," his cousin says, quieter. "'Fraid to leave her like this, honestly." 

"Sure, don't worry about it." It's nothing to Varric. He can afford a few more nights here. There's work to be done and frankly he's interested in watching this unfold. Doesn't matter to him where he does it. He turns on the news after he hangs up the phone settling at the desk in his room with his laptop. A call to room service gets him enough whiskey to last the evening before he heads down for dinner. The talk is all about the Divine, all about how she might have passed, about who will succeed her. 

"--her left and right hands, you know." 

Varric is sitting in front of a poorly cooked salmon fillet, trying not to eavesdrop and doing it anyway.

"They only choose candidates from within the Chantry. Seeker Pentaghast and Lady Nightingale--"

"--were her _closest_ friends! It's not hard to imagine what they might do, considering what's happening with the Empress."

" _Maker_ , I hope you're wrong. They're lovely women, I'd hate to see them lost to this."

Varric drains the last of his wine and abandons his fish. The hotel is emptier than it was before. Varric isn't sure why -- he'd assume people would flock to the city, but the concierge tells him that when there's a rumbling in the Chantry, outsiders tend to split and the locals all come flooding back in to be with family. Makes sense when she puts it like that, and Varric's grateful to have the space. He intends to go back to his room, order another drink, maybe get some work done, but there's a sign in the hotel that catches his eye. 

"Is, uh, is the Chantry open?" he asks. She nods. "Right."

Varric can't remember the last time he was in a Chantry. Twenty years ago? Was he a child? With his mother, probably. She was the closest thing to Andrastian he had in his life, and he doesn't know how he became more faithful than she was, even with the little bit of faith he has.

He remembers the chants, in spite of himself.

There are no other guests there when he steps into the Chantry, and quietly he makes his way to the front. He should apologize, maybe, for taking such a long time to come back. For using the Divine's death as an excuse to be religious, or something like it. Instead, he speaks.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." 

Maker, but he doesn't know himself anymore. 

 

 

 

_"We continue tonight with a look at Divine Justinia's reign, how her colorful and checkered history may have made her the perfect candidate--"_

Varric turns off the television, looking into the bottom of his glass. He's been drinking water all night, trying to come up with an excuse to drink something stronger. He should just go to bed, it's midnight. Not when he usually sleeps, but it's been a particularly interesting day. He can still taste the chant on his tongue, wonders if it counts when you say it while you brush your teeth--

The knock on the door surprises him. Varric scowls at the little peephole, made for those much taller than him, and opens the door anyway.

"Well, _shit._ "

The Seeker brushes past him and strides into the room, bringing the buttery scent of incense in with her as she waits for him to close the door.

"I had hoped you hadn't left yet," she says, dropping her bag into a chair.

"Well maybe I was waiting for this." Cassandra gives him a quick smile, probably her first in days. "How'd you know where I was?"

"It was not, ah, _legal_ ," she says. "But presently it's a rather trivial matter. No one is watching what I do. Not...not yet. We are still in mourning."

"They haven't chosen a successor?"

"It would not be appropriate. Most Holy has been gone only a few days. We must observe a proper amount of grieving and then move forward."

Varric raises an eyebrow, crossing the room to the desk where the bottle of whiskey he'd ordered a couple nights before is still mostly full. "A drink?" he asks, and she nods. "I'm...surprised. That you're here."

"So am I," she admits, taking the glass from him. Her fingers tremble, but her grip is firm. "I don't...our meeting seems like it happened months ago."

"I know."

"Do you know I thought of you? For some reason, when they told me. I thought of you. It had nothing to do with her death, it was...it was the flight. The way you helped me. I couldn't stop myself, your voice and your story, it--" She takes a breath. "I do not know when I will get the chance to do this again," she says.

"What? Drink with dwarves you barely know?"

Cassandra laughs. "Well, yes, but--" She looks up at him through her lashes, which are so long and dark and -- "They will name us as candidates, and then there will be no life for me until it is decided."

"Do you want to succeed her?" She shrugs. "What do you want, then? No offense, I'm glad to see you again, you--" _Surprised me, took my breath away, listened to me._

"I know." She hands him her glass, now empty. "What I'm saying is...I will not get a chance to...to do what I would like for some time. I will be constantly watched, constantly protected once the grieving process is over. And I--" 

Varric steps closer to her, because there's a tremor there that he understands, and so he takes her hands in his. "Seeker."

"Would you say my name, please? No one has said it in days."

"Cassandra."

"Again."

Varric reaches out and holds her face in his hands. " _Cassandra_."

She breathes. 

 

 

 

For a long time, they kiss. She is soft under his hands, despite the edges and walls she's built. The smooth expanse of her sides gives under the pressure of his fingers, her blouse pooling at his wrists as he pushes it up, over her head and shoulders, lets it slide to the floor. He takes his time working her over, time removing the rest of her clothing. 

She sits up to slide his shirt off his shoulders, hands travelling down his arms, pulling him flush against her chest. Bundled together, their height difference doesn't seem to be much of a difference at all, now, not when she is so desperate to keep her mouth pressed to his own. 

"You sure this is how you want to spend one of your last nights of freedom?" Varric asks. She answers him by swinging her leg over his hip, rolling against him so he can feel just how much she wants this. " _Shit--_ "

"Do you think so little of yourself?"

"I don't think about myself very often, actually."

Cassandra laughs, and it's low enough to be something like seduction to Varric's ears. "You should. You're more adept at this than you give yourself credit for."

"I never said I wasn't _good_ at it," he murmurs, rolling her over. Her eyes go wide for a moment before she smiles. "But one might not consider a surface dwarf with no family to speak of and too much time on his hands a suitable conquest for a woman of your stature."

She kisses him, and it is _bruising._

"Then make it worth my while."

"I can do that, Seeker."

"I was not asking."

Varric's heart skips a beat. 

He presses his lips to the curve of her jaw, trailing down her neck and chest. His thumb flicks at her nipple, fingers gently pressing against the swell of her breasts. She understands his intent well enough, legs like the pages of a book falling open in his hands. Varric doesn't waste any time dragging his tongue over her, hands keeping her legs spread apart as he pulls her closer. He fucks her with his tongue and this where his elegance ends because he has always been good at this part, but never graceful. It doesn't seem to matter to her -- the harder he pushes at her clit, the tighter she grips his hair, and that's alright with him. He moans against her, finger sliding over the wetness on her thigh to slip inside her. He legs go of her with his other hand to press his thumb to her clit, rolling against her as she gasps, praises the Maker and him and grips the sheets with her free hand. 

Varric puts everything he has into this, and he's rewarded when she comes, thighs pressing against as a soft, strange moan escapes her lips.

When he looks up, she's staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling and shit if she isn't beautiful this way. Varric moves back up, drags his tongue over her chest, nips at her collarbone before she hauls him toward her, kissing him and rolling them over.

"I _did_ figure you for a woman who tops."

Cassandra smirks. "For now," she says.

" _Shit_ , woman--"

"Do you not think you can last?"

He chuckles. "I'll last, princess. I'll last as long as you need me to."

She leans down and kisses him, her hand searching for his cock. "Good," she murmurs, and holds him steady as she sinks onto him. 

It's Varric's turn to be surprised, to curse and praise and push his hips up as she fucks him, because it certainly isn't the other way around, not this time. Her movements are slow and deliberate, and Varric knows exactly what she's doing, exactly how she wants this. She does, too, otherwise she wouldn't move with the kind of purpose she does, letting him slide almost completely out before she drops back down, sometimes hard, sometimes achingly slow. After several agonizing minutes, she sets a steady pace, and Varric wonders if she meant what she said about lasting, because he isn't going to, not if she keeps this up, not if she's as good as this, not if-- 

"Andraste's _tits_ \--" 

"Is there something wrong?" She's slid off of him and Varric groans, hips punching up to slip into nothing, nothing but air and he _misses_ her, fuck he wants--

She urges him up, moves onto her hands and knees, and Varric has never had such a beautiful choreographed encounter with a woman before. "You are _fantastic_ ," he says, and she laughs, looking over her shoulder at him as he steadies her hips with one hand, and guides his cock into her with the other. "May I?" he asks, and she moans, her head dropping before he hears her -- 

"Do it."

He doesn't give her any time to catch her breath before he rolls his hips, fucking into her completely. His pace is brutal and she urges him on, says his name like no one has, lets him _use_ her, even though Varric is keenly aware that this has never really been about him at all. Her legs are spread wide, ass flush with his hips. It's a sight he won't forget, his cock sliding in and out, her hands gripping the pillows as he fucks her. He'd call it vicious if there wasn't something under it all, something making it _mean_ more to him. 

He can't name it, and it doesn't matter.

"I'm--"

She rolls her hips forward, and his cock is free from her and he is gasping for release, needs it more than he's needed anything. She turns, legs still spread, her cunt wet and open for him while she pulls him down. "Like _this_ ," she says, and Varric presses his forehead to hers as he pushes into her again, every thrust slow and deliberate and important and--

She comes first and he can feel her fingers brushing his cock as she gets herself off. The effort of it is too much, too much for him, and when she screams in his ear, when every part of her tights around him and her hand grips his neck and she kisses him, kisses him with teeth and tongue and fury--

Varric comes. 

Mouth hanging open, spit and sweat and hot, hot breaths, the tangle of her fingers in his hair as he softens inside of her and she rides it down, clenches probably because she can, because she is storm and he is the unsuspecting coast--

Varric collapses next to her, chest heaving, arm flung across her stomach. Cassandra starts to laugh, and he looks up at her through the hair in his face, pushing it out of the way to smile. "It _is_ funny, isn't it?"

" _Maker_ , Varric, you--"

"Oh no, don't make this about me _now_ , princess."

"But it is about you," she says, suddenly looking exhausted. "Or us. I don't know." She sighs. "I will probably not be here when you wake, but I don't want you to take it personally."

"I rarely do."

"Tomorrow is the end of the grieving period. I will return to my work and..." she trails off. It's hard to be serious when Varric can still feel her muscles on his cock, but whatever. He'll let her have this. "You were amazing."

"I told you I was good."

"You were very helpful," she says.

He smiles. "I'm glad you think so."

Cassandra rolls onto her side, reaching out to brush her thumb against his temple. "You will not be forgotten," she murmurs.

Oh. That.

"You might become Divine," he says. "I wouldn't mind being forgotten by her."

"Cassandra would not forget you."

"Cassandra is very kind."

"When it counts," she murmurs, eyes closing. 

Varric can't resist the temptation of kissing her, and so he does, pleased when her tongue slides against his, warm and sleepy in his mouth. It's the last image of her he has for a while, eyes half-closed and lips curled in a sated, satisfied smile before he loses himself to exhaustion and finally falls asleep.

 

 

 

_"The Divine Victoria made her first public appearance today, speaking to the masses and acknowledging that the grief over the former Most Holy had not yet abated, but that she was ready to step forward and assume the duties--"_

Varric shuts off the TV. He hardly ever watches the news at home and he isn't going to start now, just because--

Better not to think of it. 

He wonders what happens next, now that Divine Victoria has emerged from the grief. He wonders. He wonders about--

_Incense and steel._

A good story, if he would tell it.

 _Did you know_ , he would say, _that Divine Victoria is afraid of flying?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also you should know this is my first explicit work since september. i published something very old in december, but it had been written a few years ago. feels good the flex those, ah, _muscles_.


	5. love in the time of tyrannosaura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra is the handler for the T-Rex, and Varric is the hot-shot author sent to cover the park's first year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a trashbag, and I've seen Jurassic World twice already, so this was bound to happen, honestly. Pardon anything too mysterious, I'm not really intending on continuing this, I just had to shove some of my favorites into my other favorites. Title cribbed from one of the tracks on the soundtrack (which is an obvious reference).

She isn't like the others. Elegance where there shouldn't be any, grace where there seems to be only rough skin and claw. Cassandra aches, as she always does, to _touch_ , jealous of how Cullen can so easily reach out to his raptors, though he thinks her envy is misplaced. The feeding attraction is closed for the day, but a girl still needs to eat, and the sad bleats of the goat down below, his matted fur illuminated by the red of the flare, pierce the glass surrounding her observation deck. It shouldn't be what it is, but she loves to watch the old girl hunt.

"Oh you _are_ up here." Cassandra is broken from her reverie, unwillingly. She turns and Varric is stepping closer to the glass, his head tipped as he watches the tyrannosaur feed. "She's incredible. I didn't see this when I took my tour."

"She was picky at the start," Cassandra murmurs, remembering how it had felt to watch the beast starve herself. "She spent a long time roaming the island, before."

"Pity they had to lock her back up." Cassandra winces -- she remembers herding her into the paddock, the amount of work it took. AC standing by with live ammo, even though they never would have treated any other creature on this island that way. Fear, in their eyes. Or something like it. "They say you know everything about her."

Cassandra scowls. "Is this an interview or are you actually interested?" 

Varric holds up his hands and laughs. "No, you're right. I do need to ask you some questions, but you've been ignoring my emails."

 _Pretending you don't exist is very different than ignoring_ , she wants to say, but just shrugs instead. "I am very busy."

"I'm aware." Varric pulls up a chair next to her. He has no recorder, no book or piece of paper. He leans back, but keeps his boots on the ground. "Would you?" he asks.

"Talk to you?" He nods. "Yes, I suppose."

He grins, clapping his hands together. "That's great! So we can meet--" Below them, the old girl bends down and lazily lifts the goat in her jaws. Varric's face falls and Cassandra laughs. "You show this to kids?"

"Yes." Cassandra gets up, putting a hand on his shoulder. "They rather enjoy it."

 

 

 

Cassandra agrees to meet with Varric in the room at the resort they'd given him some months prior, when he was first invited. It had certainly not been Cassandra's idea to let some _bombastic_ , trendy, tell-all writer on _their_ island, like he could somehow ever belong, but Trevelyan had thought it would be good, and the higher-ups were intrigued and, frankly, Varric's books made people famous and rich, which was not a bad combo to have. Cassandra's opinion on him was moot and never asked after. 

"You actually came," Varric says, closing the door behind her.

"We made an arrangement. I am not one to back out of such a deal, however trivial."

"So _that's_ what you think of all this."

"It is," she says plainly. He shrugs and pulls out a chair for her. It's a large suite, with a kitchen and living space and a separate bedroom. She knows the resort only has a handful of these and they cost upwards of a thousand dollars, _at least._ Impressive, she supposes, that they'd give it to Varric and trust he'll do them right in the end. 

"So tell me about the T-rex."

"Oh." Cassandra feels a flush bloom on her cheeks. She'd assumed he'd wanted to talk about _her_ , about how she got there, about all the drivel of job promotions and referrals and things she hardly remembers. To talk about her animal, to talk about the tyrannosaur -- Cassandra wishes she'd agreed earlier.

"What would you like to know?" she asks, trying to quell her excitement. 

Varric pops open a bottle of wine, liberally filling their glasses. "Well...everything, I guess."

Her heart swells, just a bit, and she smiles, taking a long drink before she begins. "I will tell you about finding her, then. It's my fondest memory."

 

 

 

"So. I hear you're entertaining our resident _provocateur_." Cullen walks the catwalk along the raptor enclosure, grinning over his shoulder. Cassandra follows behind him. She likes to come by on her days off and watch him work with the pack. It's peaceful, though Cullen never understands what makes her think that. "Dorian said you two have been having dinner."

"He wants to know about her."

"Ah, Cassandra's favorite subject," Cullen says. "Did you tell him about how you're going to steal the old girl away and keep her on a leash in your backyard?"

"You are not funny." Cullen shrugs. "He also wanted to know about you." 

"Oh? He hasn't come and asked me."

"Trevelyan won't let him, actually. The project is not for public consumption."

"Well she's right about that. What have you told him?"

"Nothing. You're rather classified," Cassandra says, leaning stiffly against the bars.

"It's good to see you opening up." Cullen sets down a bucket and leans with her. "I know it's been hard for you."

Cassandra looks down between the small slats in the metal grate. "I am fine."

"That's good. That's really good." Cullen clasps her shoulder and starts moving again. "Go enjoy yourself Cassandra. Go to the beach or something. Get away from these animals for a while." 

"I like to be around them. They're...pleasantly complicated."

Cullen sighs. "Only you would enjoy that. Only you."

 

 

 

"Can I ask you something?" 

Cassandra sits up from her place on Varric's couch, her mind a little hazy from the wine. He's sprawled next to her, jotting down notes from their conversation, but when he speaks up, he puts the pen and book away. "Yes?"

"Do you think that all _this_ \--" He gestures out the window toward the park. "Do you think it's a good idea?"

"All of _this_ is my job," she says.

"I know that. But the viability of something like this. Sustaining creatures of this magnitude, this disposition." He shrugs. "It sometimes seems impossible."

"What they did seemed impossible so many years ago, but here we are."

"I know that," Varric says. "But...so many people. So much _chaos._ "

"Controlled chaos."

He laughs. "You can't control chaos. By very _definition_ , you can't do that."

"No," she admits. "I suppose not." She looks at him. "Why are you really here?"

"To write a book about year one of Jurassic World," he says.

"Yes, but why did you _agree_ to do it?"

"Ah. That." Varric sighs, getting up to fill his wine glass again. Cassandra nods when he holds out his hand for her own. "I guess...a change of scenery, for one." He hands her glass back. "Something different. Who could have known we'd be _here_ , of all places? Doing this? Dinosaurs and genetic cloning. It's incredible work, the implications are astounding. And yesterday I paid eight dollars for a bottle of water." He laughs. "And then, in the middle of all that, there's you. You care about that thing in the paddock. You think she's almost a person, you understand her. You watch her _eat._ " He shudders. "I could fill a chapter, maybe, with all this park operation bullshit, but I could write _volumes_ about you."

"I--"

"Sorry. I guess...what I mean is--"

"You did not get what you were expecting," Cassandra says. Varric finally sits back down next to her.

"No. I wasn't."

"Does that upset you?"

He shrugs. "A little yes, a little no. It would be easier to write about upkeep costs and spreadsheets and embryo viability. It's harder to write about people." 

"That's what you do, though."

"In theory. You're...not like anyone I've ever written about."

Cassandra blushes. "You aren't writing a book about _me._ "

"No," Varric admits. "But I wish I was."


	6. in plenty and in want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good/best/greatest story of Cassandra's life was written in tandem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filled this for dragon age kink. i'm a suck for this stuff oh god.

Perhaps Cassandra should have given her friend a bit more warning. The coffee shop is noisy, providing the cover she desperately wants (read: needs), and she's armed with a caramel latte and some heinously sweet thing that Evelyn loves. All in all, Cassandra feels _mostly_ prepared. Not entirely, because one cannot _really_ prepare for a thing like this, but it is what it is and she has done what she's done. So that's that.

Evelyn's expression when she finally sits is cautious, at best, tinged with worry along the sides. "You don't have to look _ill_ ," Cassandra says, leaning back.

"You were so _cryptic._ What am I supposed to feel right now?"

"It is nothing bad."

"Swear it?"

"I do."

Evelyn nods, takes a drink, and leans forward. "Tell me what's happening."

 

 

 

(The good parts of the story happen like this.

Cassandra meets Varric, a friend of Hawke's who is a friend of Cullen's sister who is friends with Evelyn and a reluctant friend of Cassandra's. Not out of any malice, but because Cassandra is a difficult friend on her better days, and Mia is a kind, but cautious girl. Mia knows Varric and Mia knows Cassandra reads Varric's books and so Mia thinks Cassandra should know Varric, too.

So Cassandra meets Varric.

Cassandra _detests_ him.

He is loud, but not obnoxiously so. Just enough to be noticed when his height seems to be against him. He brags, he boasts, he thinks he is _exquisite_ , but somehow still manages to be self-effacing. He never makes a story about himself, and all his pride is caught up in his companions. Cassandra never hears Varric talk about himself outside of his association with his friends. It would be humbling if he didn't think he was so _good_ at it.)

 

 

 

" _Maker_ , Cassandra. That's brilliant."

"I am glad you think so."

Evelyn laughs putting a hand to her forehead. "To be honest, I thought you were going to tell me it was all over."

"What would lead you to believe that?"

Evelyn shrugs. "Just...the way you are, I guess. You meaning you two. Both of you."

"I'm sure there's some sort of precedent that's lead you to believe this."

"You _know_ there is, Cassandra."

"Yes, well. It is not over. It is new again, don't you agree?"

 

 

 

(The better parts of the story happen like this.

Cassandra agrees to dinner with Varric. 

Cassandra does not admit he has grown on her, or that she enjoys him when their collective group of friends are together.

But she agrees to dinner and then another and then another.

She agrees, without really saying, to kiss him when he leans toward her. She leans against him and brushes her lips against his jaw, falling hard and quick, even though everything about him is nothing she has ever been interested in before. Brash and overcompensating, some might call him too similar to her to be a foil, but she finds herself adoring him all the same.

To be with him is to be her best self, she realizes. 

He quietly and sleepily admits to her the same.)

 

 

 

"Do not tell Josephine," Cassandra says sternly. Evelyn chokes.

"Andraste's _tits_ , we could _never._ She'd make a beautiful mess out of it."

"She would insist on things I cannot do."

"Oh you _could_ do them, but it's you, so you wouldn't." Evelyn sighs. "But if she knew, you know it would be beautiful."

"Of course it would be, but I am not as willing as you to be her guinea pig."

"Thom enjoy it," Evelyn says wistfully, as though remembering for the first time. "Everything about it was beautiful."

Cassandra grimaces. "That is not our way."

 

 

 

(The greatest parts of the story happen like this.

Varric asks her in a quiet place, away from prying eyes. 

Varric asks her sitting on the bench next to her, their hands locked together as if in prayer.

Varric asks her because he has fallen painfully, beautifully, hopelessly, and inarguably in love with her.

When Cassandra hears him, it takes her breath away.)

 

 

 

"Say it again," Evelyn says, laughing.

"You're impossible."

" _Please._ "

Cassandra sighs. "Will you be the witness for me at my ceremony on Friday?"

" _Yes._ A thousand times, Cassandra, _yes._ " Evelyn grabs her hands and squeezes them. 

 

 

 

(The most beautiful part of the story happens like this.

They walk together into the courthouse. Cassandra has not worn a dress since she was fourteen, but she lets Josephine know the morning of before she can plan something outrageous, and allows her friend the honor of finding her something to wear. There are tears and there is a bit of a false sting of betrayal that Josephine was not informed, but Cassandra suspects she will pay for that with a "surprise" reception later.

Varric's hand is dry and sturdy against Cassandra's shaking (sweaty) one. She feels nervous in a way she never has. 

Cassandra is going to be married. If Anthony were here, he would laugh at her. But he would be proud and he would cry, she knows it. 

Hawke cries. Great, heaving man-sobs, Varric calls them. He and Evelyn get their marriage certificate wet when they scrawl their names across the bottom.

It is a quiet affair, nothing like the dinner Josephine plans for them later, when string lights and music and long tables for all their friends, with speeches and dancing and more alcohol than Cassandra can keep track of. 

And when it's over, when they are home and alone and together, Varric slides their certificate into the frame he's prepared and hangs it on the wall. There will be a photo there later, he promises. 

He promises her a lot of things, and Cassandra returns them in kind. 

Because they have so long to keep them, and she is grateful for that.)

 

 

 

( _I will love you enough to risk being hurt, trust you when I don't understand, weep with you in heartache, and celebrate life with you in joy. I will receive you as my equal throughout all of our days._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the vows at the end are part of a set of non denominational vows, because i always thought those were so lovely. as always, comment with prompts and love.


	7. set fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For a moment, Cassandra saw herself as she did it, as she turned and rose to her knees and pulled Varric to her, pressing her lips to his own with a sort of manic urgency that later she would be unable to describe._
> 
>  
> 
> A rainstorm throws Varric and Cassandra together in a room full of feelings and braids. Or maybe just one braid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i wrote porn

The clouds that had rolled in over the keep didn't concern Cassandra until they began to rumble. A storm wasn't certain to brew, and rain was finicky around these parts -- it didn't seem quite sure as to whether it wanted to be snow or something else entirely -- so Cassandra was not entirely convinced it would wash them out. She had joined Varric on a quiet stroll from the tavern, pleased that they had come to a place in their friendship that she could even call it that. He was insufferable, as always, but he asked her questions that were not intended to hurt, and she could answer them with a slow, sweet confidence. If he were going to write her history, she knew that he, better than anyone, would get it right.

The rain, though, surprised her, when it finally began to fall. It didn't begin slowly, either, nor did it seem to have anything left to build up to. One minute they were completely dry, the next, Cassandra found herself drenched and nearly blind. She felt Varric's hand wrap around her wrist and he yanked her into a room and shut the door behind him. It took her a moment to realize he'd pulled her into his own quarters, and she was, for a brief moment, embarrassed. She'd never walked with him this far before. Her mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts that were both unnecessary and quick to fizzle out -- did he expect her to come this far? Had others seen them? She didn't _care_ , but did they assume -- 

"Seeker." 

"Hmm?"

"Your, uh, hair. It's--" He made a twisting motion with his fingers and Cassandra reached up, feeling her braid at the base of her neck, tracing it along to where it rested on her shoulder, dripping with water. "Damn." He had pulled off the sash at his waist and was ringing it out over the washbasin in the corner. "That's a rain to write about."

"It will make a better chapter than 'The Vivacious 'Vint'," she said.

"Dorian liked that title."

"Dorian _invented_ the title." Cassandra pulled off her over shirt. She felt waterlogged and she suspected if she took off her boots and tipped them over, it would prove her point. From another corner of the room, Cassandra heard the rush of a fire coming to life, and she felt the warmth of it spread over her back. Varric was peeling off his boots, turning them upside down to drip-dry. 

Without thinking, Cassandra began to strip out of her other clothes -- she had no intention of waiting out a storm soaked to the bone, and Varric didn't seem to mind. He pulled off his own, sifting through a trunk at the end of the bed for some dry things, tossing a large shirt and some loose fitting pants into her lap. "I'll close my eyes, you know. If it bothers you."

"We are too old for this, Varric."

"Aw, come on now, Seeker. You're never too old to oggle a beautiful woman. Or a handsome dwarf." He raised an eyebrow, but turned from her anyway, giving her some privacy. Cassandra flushed a bit at the sentiment, and quickly stripped out of her trousers and smallclothes. Dry and clothed again, she settled into an overstuffed armchair and Varric went to stoke the fire. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." 

"I didn't know your braid was still attached to your head."

Cassandra instinctively reached up to toy with the end. She needed to fix it, but it had been some time since she'd let it down in front of someone else. "I...was fond to the length as a girl, but it became impractical when I joined the Seekers. The braid is for me. I like it."

"It's a good look for you." Varric pulled up a chair of his own at sat next to her. Outside, the storm seemed to grow louder, and Varric sighed. "Well, nothing like a good drenching to wake you up at almost midnight."

"Is it so late?"

"Just about."

"Maker, I hadn't realized." Cassandra shifted in her chair. She was keenly aware of Varric's gaze on her, the way his eyes followed her hands as they lazily braided and rebraided the strand. She asked him to read something to her and he obliged, unearthing an old chapter of _Swords and Shields_. Cassandra remembered this one fondly, though it was not her favorite. She closed her eyes as he read, looking at him only once when he began to read one of the less...appropriate scenes, but she was still relaxed. Cassandra had always found Varric's prose to be quite soothing, particularly when read aloud. Now, so late at night and sitting by the fire, combing through her hair, it was something like magic if she could ever produce it. He only stopped when it was finished, and Cassandra barely managed to contain the sigh that escaped her. Satisfied, but disappointed, she looked at him and found him smiling.

"You ever going to fix it?" he asked, gesturing toward her hair.

"Why? Would you care to do it yourself?"

"I'm no stranger to braids," he said, and pushed his chair back. He pointed to the rug at their feet and said, "Choice is yours."

Lip between her teeth, Cassandra briefly considered braving the storm outside and pretending this had never happened -- it would change everything between them, she thought, if he were to touch her hair, lay his fingers on her carefully, as she suspected he would. 

She rose and went to the spot at his feet, drawing her knees to her chest. 

"Any redheaded Pentaghasts in the world?" Varric asked quietly, pulling the spare pens from the top of the braid and sliding them between his lips. 

"No. Bull would be disappointed." Varric chuckled, but stayed quiet. "I cannot say what much of my family looks like. We are scattered over Nevarra." She felt a gentle tug as Varric reached the end of the strand and began wrapping it around her head. Quickly, he pinned it in place. When Cassandra reached up to touch and check it, her fingers brushed his. Varric kept his hands where they were, and Cassandra found herself threading her fingers under his own to test the quality of his work. "It's good," she said.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Beautiful." Cassandra felt the thumb of his other hand trace the outside of her ear and she shivered, leaning in to him. "Seeker--"

For a moment, Cassandra saw herself as she did it, as she turned and rose to her knees and pulled Varric to her, pressing her lips to his own with a sort of manic urgency that later she would be unable to describe. He kissed back just as quickly, as though he were primed for this, waiting for it to happen, desperate for it after so many slow, crooked walks around the keep. Perhaps she had always meant to go as far and out of sight as his quarters. Perhaps she had meant for this to happen, and sooner. Perhaps so _many_ things -- Cassandra didn't really know. What she knew was that Varric seemed to melt from his place in his chair and settle on the floor with her. She knew that he leaned forward and gently urged her back. She knew that he fit himself between the spread of her legs and dipped his head to mouth at the curve of her neck. 

She moaned, and thunder shook the windows, swallowing up her need. 

"Make that noise again." 

"Varric, I--" He grazed her with his teeth and it rolled out of her without warning, higher this time, and more desperate. She gasped near the end and looked at him, aware that her mouth hung open, wanton and untoward.

"You're in _my_ clothes, laying on _my_ rug, looking at me like I've wanted you to for so long. Please forgive me, Seeker, but I need to say it--"

"My name. Varric, my _name_ \--"

" _Cassandra._ " He kissed her again, tongue pushing into her mouth as his hand snaked up behind her head, drawing her close. "I want to rip everything off of you and make you scream."

"Please--"

"Say it again."

" _Please_ , Varric--"

It happened so quickly. He groaned as he jerked the tunic up and over her head, tossing it aside. When his tongue brushed one of her nipples, she moaned again, hand digging into his hair. He paid proper attention to both her breasts before he moved down, resting his forehead on her chest as his fingers worked with the loose trousers sitting on her hips. Self-consciousness gripped Cassandra for a brief, panicked moment before Varric moved down between her knees and looked at her cunt, then looked her in the eyes as he put his mouth on her.

The importance of the moment took her by surprise, and she was aware, suddenly, that she had crossed a lined with Varric that she might never be able to walk back over. That she might need him to be right there for the rest of her life, in some capacity. It frightened her, for only a second, before she felt his fingers inside of her and her body tightened around him. His tongue did incredible things against her, and if he was uncomfortable with the fact that she was close to crushing him with her legs, he didn't complain. Cassandra's voice had reached octaves unheard by even herself, and it was with a rush of air and a crook of his fingers that she finally came, his name dying on her tongue.

Varric pulled back with a grin, fingers lazily fucking her through the aftershocks. Cassandra felt the muscles in her calves tighten instinctively and she could have done it again and again if he had only asked. Instead, he pulled away, leaving her empty and gasping, making his way up her body. He pressed his lips to her sweat-slicked skin, tongue sliding in the valley of her breasts, dragging upwards toward the dip in her collarbone before he finally _kissed_ her.

"The way you _taste_ ," he said, and took one of her hands and pressed it against his growing erection. "This is what you do to me."

"I am well aware of how this works, Varric."

He laughed before sitting back on his heels and unbuttoning his tunic. "Then you know what comes next." His confidence was intoxicating, but he hesitate for a moment, taking her hand and pulling her up to meet him. Soft hands cupped her cheek and jaw, taking Cassandra by surprise. "I'm getting carried away, aren't I?"

"No."

"I want you," he said quietly. "Maybe more than I should."

"That's a silly thing to say. Did you get it from one of your stories?"

He laughed again. "No, but I could start reciting for you, if you'd like." 

Cassandra shook her head. "Another time. Next time." She kissed him, pushing the tunic off his shoulders and reaching down, pushing her hand under the hem of his breeches and carefully wrapping her fingers around his cock. He groaned and she smiled. "Right now, _this_ will suffice."

"I can definitely do more than _suffice_ , Seeker."

"You are all talk, dwarf."

"I do other things with my mouth."

"Yes," she said, giving him a gentle push. He tumbled back onto the rug as Cassandra pulled off the rest of his clothes. Cautiously, perhaps anxiously, she straddled his waist. "I have been made aware." 

It wasn't without care that she guided him into her. Varric was steady, rock-solid beneath her, his eyes never leaving hers, his mouth slightly open until she began pushing him further inside, until she could almost drop down, until he was completely there -- and his mouth opened and he made the softest noise Cassandra had heard. Surprise and satisfaction and relief all at once, like he had been waiting for this moment. As she adjusted, as she moved her hips and let the feel of him become comfortable, Cassandra realized that, maybe, he had. He had been waiting for the right moment to seduce her, to take their shared, silent feelings and act. 

Maker take him, she was enamored. She was _endeared._ She had been suddenly swept off her feet by a storm and his rough, careful hands, and as she began to lift off of him, she sighed, pleased and aroused and renewed. 

It was exhilarating, being able to control the speed and force of his cock inside of her. She moaned and moved faster, dropping down to her elbows as his hips punched up and struck her deep. It drew out a desperate sound and he hit that place over and over until Cassandra felt like neither of them had control anymore, and here they were, victims of their own desire. She wanted to come, but she wanted him to see her, to watch her. Carefully she pushed herself back up, and began taking him again in long, languid strokes. She dragged her hand over her breast, watching his eyes follow her movements. When she finally touched herself, she could feel the slide of his cock in and out of her body, and there was a part of her that wanted to watch, wanted to see, but her fingers danced along the edge of her clit and she could feel that familiar jerk of her muscles, knew that she was close, and, when she came, she looked right at him, made sure he saw the way her body reacted to him, the way her skin flushed and her mouth fell open and she did exactly what he wanted her to do -- 

she screamed. 

In an instant, she was on her back, and Varric was still buried inside of her. He slung one of her legs over his shoulder, letting the other wrap lazily around his waist, and he began to _fuck_ her. It was lewd and it was wild, the satisfying smack of his hips against her ass over and over again as Cassandra became overwhelmed with a desire to make noise and nothing else. Her hands seemed to move without permission, one flying into her hair, the other gripping one of her breasts and _Maker_ she was going to come for him again, she was going to fly off this precipice and into another place entirely -- 

" _Cassandra._ " 

Oh, but her _name._ Her name on his tongue like that, said with hope and the tiniest bit of a prayer. He was begging her for something, but she didn't know what it was. He looked at her, and his rhythm had long since disappeared. He was frantically thrusting into her, and she suddenly realized what he wanted, what he needed.

"Come, Varric. Please, come."

" _Fuck--_ " A few disconnected pushes and he stopped, gripping her knees and thrusting in and letting go. Cassandra _felt_ it, felt it as surely as she felt a rising warmth in her own belly, and it took the barest brush of her fingers against her clit to send her over the edge, clenching around him as he recovered, forcing a shout from his chest, his cock sensitive inside her aching, wailing body. 

For a moment, it was like that. Varric inside of her as her body punished him, as her muscles continued recovering and he suffered, but not without a smile. Eventually he withdrew, and there were several long moments of silence as they caught their breath, too hot by the fire. Cassandra felt like her body would combust if he touched her, nerves sensitive and skin aflame. But he did, and she lived through it, enough that she could meet him and grip his trembling fingers in her own as he tried to kiss her, but could not quite summon the energy to make it to her mouth. 

He kissed the inside of her thigh, instead, and she was not ashamed of the way her body trembled at the idea that he might kiss her elsewhere, too. 

"Damn, Seeker."

"You are satisfied, then?"

"And now you're making _jokes_." He laughed and finally sat up, groaning with the effort. His hands still stroked her legs, and she could see his thoughts, see how much he appreciated them, the way they could pull him closer. He kissed her knee. "I am very satisfied."

Cassandra sat up on her elbows, watching him as he paid his respects to her legs, tracing the contours of her muscles with his fingertips, carefully cupping her ankle. He pressed his lips to the jut of bone there and sighed. "Let's go to bed, Seeker."

With aching muscles, she followed him into his bed. Outside the storm raged on, but Cassandra was pleased with its final results. The courtyard would be a mess tomorrow, but she didn't mind. She could imagine herself waking here well after sunrise, and she wondered if the bets she had heard of would be settled within the week. She was not in the business of secret-keeping. She would leave that to Leliana.

As if he could read her thoughts, Varric said with a laugh, "Dorian's going to make a lot of coin when he finds out."

"Oh?"

"He always had us pegged for 'sooner, not later.'"

"I'm glad you knew about this and I did not."

"You should be. His predictions about how it would happen were completely off base, though."

"And how did he _think_ it would happen?"

"Oh, just that you would heroically save me from an attack by a dozen bears, and I would kiss you in front of everyone and we'd make passionate love in the tent we were forced to share while everyone pretended they couldn't hear."

Cassandra shrugged. "It is romantic."

"Even the part where I get almost eaten by twelve bears?"

She laughed and rolled over to kiss his cheek. "Especially that part."

"Traitorous," he murmured. His fingers brushed the crown of her head and he laughed. "Your braid's still there."

"You're very good at doing my hair, apparently."

"And other things."

"Yes," she said dryly. "You are good at _other_ things as well." She elbowed him gently. "You will not get another chance if you continue to gloat."

"Apologies," he said, yawning. 

"Maybe in the morning," she said.

"Oh, definitely in the morning. I do some of my best work in the morning."

Cassandra sighed and closed her eyes. "You will have to prove it."

"Can do, Seeker." He kissed her forehead and tucked her closer to him. "Can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll noticed I deleted the chapter with advisor threesomes because this has officially just become a garbage back of varric/cassandra stories so.


	8. underneath the moonlight [pokemon au]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra wants her Eevee to evolve into an Espeon, but maybe Varric knows something about all this that she doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even tell you what this is. I do know there will be more pokemon things tho.

She was young, when she met him. Standing on the outer edges of Kirkwall City, her hands blistered from clinging to her pack. She needed to find a Pokémon Center -- her Seviper had been poisoned and she'd run out of antidotes. The streets were teeming with trainers and townsfolk, and the Center was no different. She waited half an hour for her turn, clutching her poor companion's Pokéball to her chest. He told her later that's where he first saw her, and the way she looked about to cry as she held the thing caught his eye. 

But he didn't talk to her, not then. 

Not until later, when she'd heard there was a man in town, the brother of a successful gym leader, who knew more about Pokémon happiness and evolution than anyone else in Thedas. They said he was writing a book about it. They said he was going to be Kirkwall's favorite son, someday. 

"We must try, hmm?" Cassandra spent her second day in a park, letting her Eevee play under the sun. They were so close, had worked so hard together -- and still, nothing. Cassandra wanted to see her evolve, an Espeon if she could have it. Something she wanted most in this world. She stretched out and Eevee curled under her palm, letting Cassandra scratch behind her ears. "We will have to try." 

 

 

 

His home was in the center of the city, overlooking the park she'd spent hours resting in. It was small, well-lit, and teeming with plants in every window. Music played in the corner, and he stood in the kitchen, talking with a young woman. Cassandra had knocked and been led inside by a young man in a wide-brimmed hat. He took her into the sitting room and brought her a cup of tea. 

"You can let them out, you know. They want to come out."

"I...it is no trouble?"

"He prefers it that way." The young man gave a small bow and left the room. Cassandra let the Pokémon she was travelling with out of their Pokéballs -- her Seviper, who had been with her since he was so very small. Her Eevee, trusted and battle-worn. The little Budew she'd caught only a week before, chipper and pleased any time Cassandra held her. Finally, a Liepard, evolved from the Purrloin she'd caught a few months back. They were a small team, but Cassandra battled rarely. She was striving to be a specialist, but in what she couldn't quite decide. 

She heard the young girl leave and Varric Tethras came into the room. He was a happy man, shorter with broad shoulders, and a smile that was infectious. Cassandra couldn't help but return it. He introduced himself and immediately turned to her group of companions. "That's a collection you've got there."

"I...is it alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course. They're yours, aren't they?" She nodded. "Then it's perfect." He sat down, and the young man brought another cup of tea to him. "Thanks, Cole." Varric took a sip and set it aside. "Is it your Eevee giving you trouble?"

"How did you know?"

"I've evolved my fair share. Female?" Cassandra nodded again. "She's beautiful. Trusts you a lot, you can see that right away."

"She will not evolve. Every day--"

"Trying for an Espeon?"

"Yes! Psychic Pokémon--"

"Right, I get it." He glanced up at the clock. "We could take her out to the park today if you wanted."

"We spent all _day_ in the park yesterday, I think--"

"Let's try it again."

"It's late, though."

"There's still some sunlight left," he said, standing. "Come on, it'll be fun."

 

 

 

Varric sat crosslegged in the grass, feeding snacks to a Petilil, looking out over the park. "You really want an Espeon, huh?"

"Yes. I...I _think_ \--"

"You and your Pokémon need to be sure."

Cassandra frowned. "But that is not how it works. In the day--"

"Sometimes," he said, gently interrupting her, "you have to let someone else do the choosing." He looked at Cassandra's Eevee, rolling in the grass, yipping happily.

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but as she did, she saw the taletell light of the sunset spark across the sky. She swore, standing to go fetch the Pokémon, but Varric grabbed her hand. 

"Don't."

"But the daylight--"

" _Don't._ " 

Cassandra turned. Her Eevee had stopped playing, and was looking at the sky, trembling in anticipation. "I...I don't understand."

"You know what happens at night, right?"

As if in answer to his question, as the sunlight faded, Cassandra's Eevee shook all over, mouth open, and began to change.

"Oh, oh _no_ , that isn't--" Cassandra stood, helpless, as her Eevee evolved into an Umbreon right before her eyes. "She is--"

"She's beautiful." 

"I don't understand," Cassandra said quietly. Her Eevee -- no, her _Umbreon_ \-- came toward her, and at first Cassandra thought she might not recognize her. But Umbreon opened her mouth and wiggled, leaping into Cassandra's arms. "Oh, it is you, isn't it?"

"She's still exactly who she was before. She's stronger now."

"How?"

"Because you let her _choose._ You know it takes a lot of trust to do that, right? It takes trust and training and time and _love._ " Varric stood, and the Petilil in his arms hopped onto his shoulder. "You're a good trainer, Cassandra. You should be proud of yourself." 

Cassandra's Umbreon butted her head against her trainer's chin, eyes closed and sighing happily. 

"I...thank you."

"Sure!" Varric smiled. "I'm, uh, I'm heading home."

"Right."

"Next time you're in Kirkwall, though. You know, just...come on by. Love to see this little lady again." He tipped his head toward her Umbreon and smiled. "Take care, Cassandra."

"And you, Varric. Thank you."

He turned to go, but paused before he looked at her again and said, "I saw you. In the center. You were so upset, I wanted to say something--" He shook his head. "I'm glad I got to meet you. Be careful out there." 

Cassandra didn't know what to say to him after that, and she didn't think anything she could come up with would really be _right._ So she let him go, wondering if she'd see him again, and began walking back to her hotel.


	9. tumbling tumbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatest story (of his own) ever told, whispered in the dark between battle wounds and blood -- (she will make it because she has to because she needs to _because_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jets! everyone has them. that's the au.

"This is Tethras broadcasting on any and all open Inquisition channels. We've got an agent down, I repeat, we have an agent down."

_"This is Nightingale, we read you."_

"Seeker's down."

_"Is she alive?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, she's giving me the evil eye so I think we're good." A laugh on the other end of the radio. Varric smiled for the first time in an hour. "How long on that backup?"

_"You're in the middle of a firefight, Varric. But I'll get someone there as soon as I can. Keep your ears open."_

"Will do. Tethras out." He sighed and looked around the warehouse they'd taken refuge in. It was hardly the place to hide out while a gunshot wound festered, but they were out of ammo, and out of options. The Venatori outside were being pushed back, but Cassandra was losing blood too quickly to move her. And Varric wasn't going to lose another person on his watch again. He knelt down beside her, lifting the sleeve of his duster from her waist. It wasn't fatal, but it wasn't pretty. "Hey," he said quietly. She turned to look at him, eyes unfocused. "Come on, Seeker. Look at me."

"I _am_ ," she hissed, gritting her teeth. Cassandra was tough, and she'd refused the painkillers from the field kit twice. Varric was done with that bullshit. He took them out and shook the pills into his palm, searching for his water. "I do not--"

"Do you understand protocol in this situation?" Varric found the canteen and shook it. Still full. "When one of us is down for the count, the other takes over as mission leader. _You_ are down for the count. Meaning that _I_ am the mission leader. And that means that, right now, I outrank you. So take these. It's an order." Varric pushed the pills into her open hand. Cassandra gave him a look to raze cities, but she tossed them back and took a hearty swig of the water.

"It's tepid."

"You could complain about anything, you know that?" He took the canteen for himself and drank from it. "Yeah, that's ripe."

Cassandra groaned as she tried to sit up straighter. Varric knew better than to help her, and she managed it just fine on her own, finally, but she was weak, losing strength. Leliana hadn't been specific, but her words said everything.

Help was on the way, but it would take time. Time Varric wasn't sure they had.

"You wanna hear a story?"

Cassandra's eyes were closed, and she was so still, Varric wondered if she'd passed out again. But she turned to him, giving him a quick smile. "You have one?"

"I always have a story." The building shook around them, but it was followed by a cheer from their own side. Cullen and the Inquisitor were leading the charge -- maybe they'd make it out of this alive. 

"Alright." She winced as she angled herself toward him. "But I get to choose."

"You want one you've already heard?" She nodded. "Okay. Which?"

She reached out and grasped his fingers in her hand. Varric moved closer, gripping more of her, meeting her gaze. 

"Ours."

 

 

 

They had met in the middle of a war. Corypheus and his soldiers had finally invaded the Marches, and Kirkwall had burned. Alone, lost, and without his friends, Varric left his city behind. He'd heard of people who were fighting back. People who were taking control. People with money and resources who probably didn't _need_ a guy like him, but were going to get one anyway. He made his way south, listening to the stories. 

_Skyhold,_ they always said. _Refuge is in Skyhold._

Skyhold was a myth, Varric had always thought. It was an abandoned city in the clouds, sitting in the Frostbacks, hidden from view. The climb was treacherous, but he didn't make it alone. Dozens of refugees who could brave the cold were marching up the mountains, preparing to give their lives to the cause. Varric held a lot of hands, told a lot of stories, shared a lot of drinks. When he'd reached the top, there's been a moment where the doors didn't open, where the city seemed as empty as the stories always sounded.

When they were inside, it was like nothing Varric had ever seen. 

The place was bustling with activity. Men and women were being trained on the western half of the city, while an enormous keep loomed above them. Varric was jostled along, given a rudimentary medical exam, and a place to sleep. It was well into his first night when he was awoken by a woman in dark clothes, a hood obscuring her features. 

"The Inquisitor would like to speak with you." Varric nodded and was shuffled along until he was deep inside the keep. The woman excused herself, telling Varric to knock three times. He did. A young voice called out: "Enter." And so he did. 

After that, things were a blur. Everyone knew who he was, what he'd been before the war had come. He'd helped liberate Kirkwall from the Qunari. Varric _Tethras_ had come to Skyhold, after everything! People whispered when he walked down the street, nodded as he used his key to open his new, private quarters. Bianca never left his side. Some asked after it, wondered where he'd gotten it. Varric kept his head down. 

He'd never done those things. Hawke had done those things. And now she was gone.

* * *

Varric didn't meet the Seeker right away. He'd certainly heard of Cassandra Pentaghast -- best shot in Thedas, Right Hand of the Divine. Some of the recruits he met called her the Dragon -- fierce in spirit, a trainer without mercy. Varric supposed he should have been afraid of her, all things considered. 

But he was not. 

He met her two weeks after he'd arrived. Right after dinner, as Varric was settling in for the night to answer letters and maybe have a drink -- there was a knock. Sturdy, sound. He should have known exactly who it was, and finding her there, standing in his doorway, wasn't really a surprise. 

"Seeker Pentaghast."

"Varric Tethras." She edged past him and came into his room. "I trust your new quarters are accurate?"

"Well, I ordered a pinball machine days ago, but your Ambassador says it shouldn't take much longer." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, no jokes. Yes. Everything is fine." He gave her a half hearted salute, and she finally smiled. "There it is. Anything else I can help you with?" Cassandra shook her head. "Right. Um--"

"It is good you came to us," she said, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

* * *

Varric spoke with the Seeker every day. They walked together, inspected weapons together, and sometimes stood in silence together, looking out over the view.

"This city will be even greater, once the war is over," she said. 

"It's pretty great already."

"He has no idea we're even here." Cassandra leaned over the edge of the wall and looked down into the busy street. "Leliana thinks I anticipate the future too often. I do not live enough in the present."

"The present fucking sucks, Seeker."

"It is not all bad," she said. "But I see your point. I find it difficult to procure a balance between the two schools of thought."

"You should do what you want," Varric said.

"Do you really think that?" He nodded. "Well, I will have to test your advice then. To find if it is sound enough." She smiled at him, and Varric felt his knees go weak.

* * *

The first time he kissed her, it was before his first mission. They had had their share of ups and downs in the past few weeks, trying hard to make themselves out to be friends and nothing but, and failing miserably in the process. She was beautiful, and fierce, and Varric had been alone a very long time. She let her hand linger on his shoulder too long, and Varric caught himself staring when she trained. 

She was awake in her room when he came to her, and didn't seem ready to say goodbye. 

"I am...not sure what--"

"Seeker, don't do this."

"You make it hard to stay angry with you."

"I didn't do anything--"

"You _lied_ about Hawke--"

"We have settled this, Cassandra--"

Yes, Varric had lied about knowing where his old friend had been. But dragging her into a war after she'd just fought one was the last thing Varric wanted to do. Hawke had hidden herself away. She didn't owe another drop of blood to Thedas, and Isabella and Daisy were helping make sure of that. So Varric had lied, and then Hawke had written to the Inquisitor, and when Cassandra had found out, she was livid.

Varric thought for sure they'd never speak again.

"You should just _go_ ," she finally said, sitting on the edge of her bed. She was definitely pouting, but she'd hit him if he accused her of it.

"Right." He reached for the door, ready to go out there and maybe never come back.

And then he thought better of it.

"Hey." She looked at him. "You can kill me later for this." 

"What--"

Varric closed the distance between them and kissed her, reaching up to hold her face steady. Cassandra froze, staring at him -- and then she melted into the advance, moaning softly into his mouth as she kissed him back, locking her arms behind his neck. For a long while it was simply that -- their kiss, their hands -- and then Varric heard the jet roar to life in the courtyard, and he knew it was time to go.

"When I come back--"

" _Ugh._ Maker take you Varric. _Go_ ," she said. "Do not make promises to me _now_." 

"Right." He kissed her one last time and smiled. "I'll...see you when I see you, then."

 

 

 

"That is not all," Cassandra said. Varric had finally come to rest with her against the wall, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"No, but the rest of it isn't really appropriate."

"I suppose this is not the most arousing of circumstances."

"No. But I love you. You remember that story, don't you?" Cassandra nodded. "Good." He reached out to cup her cheek. "Hey," he said. "Don't go to sleep on me." Above, he could hear the sound of a jet landing, the heavy stomps of boots heading their way. Cassandra sat upright with a jolt, looking around. "It's just our ride."

"And if it is not?"

"Then we kill every fucker who walks through that door."

"We are out of ammo, Varric."

"There's some pipes in the corner. Anything's a weapon if you hit with it hard enough."

She rolled her eyes. "That won't be necessary. I can hear Dorian."

As if on cue, the mage fired a icy bolt from his staff that blew open the door, and he stood there, in all his glory, smiling down at them. "This is cozy."

"You could have knocked."

"And missed the look on your face? _Never._ " Dorian reached out and Varric took his hand, groaning as he got to his feet. "You're too old for war, Varric."

"Tell me about it." A few healers were surrounding Cassandra, and in a few minutes, they got her off the ground and were heading toward the door. "Will she be alright?"

"She needs a transfusion, but yes. She'll be fine." Dorian put a hand on Varric's shoulder. "You took very good care of her. She's lucky to have you."

Varric sighed. He was exhausted, he needed to rest, preferably somewhere near Cassandra. 

"I guess we take our luck where we can get it."

Dorian nodded. "That we do, my friend. That we do."


	10. i've been trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine overhears an incredible heartache. It does not end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might take this concept and turn it into something bigger, at some point, with a happier ending. We'll see. For now, enjoy the sads because I can't sleep.

She had gone to the gardens to be alone -- a sort of alone different than the one she had in her office, where people came in and out of the war room, or delivered packages, or simply stuck their head in to say hello. Here, there was real, honest solitude, particularly late at night. Josephine often wandered through the gardens when she couldn't sleep, snipping a rose or two and carrying the blooms back to her quarters. Tonight the sky was clear, free of any remnants of the breach, a sure sign of good things to come.

"Seeker?"

Josephine heard Varric's voice through the haze of her thoughts and, without thinking, hid herself behind a pillar. He was obviously not looking for her, and Josephine heard Cassandra's replying only a moment later.

"I am here."

Varric laughed. "I thought you might be."

"It is a very large place, Varric. I may walk where I please."

"And so late at night." Josephine heard their footsteps falter, and dared to turn her head, just ever so slightly, to get a better look. She could not leave without being found out, and there was a part of her, the part that had once traded gossip and secrets, that desperately wanted to know what had brought them here.

It was no secret Varric and Cassandra had grown closer, and even less a secret that each had grown rather fond of the other. Cassandra could be caught staring when Varric walked by the sparring ring, and Josephine had, on more than one occasion, followed his gaze across the great hall at breakfast, and found him watching her. But if there had been a confession, any sort of consummation whatsoever -- Josephine didn't know. And she suspected that, since _no one_ else did either, they had resigned their feelings to lovesick gazes traded across Skyhold.

It was sickeningly beautiful, but it made Josephine's heart ache in equal parts.

"You've been avoiding me," Cassandra said quietly. She sat down on a bench. Varric stayed frozen in his spot. "I have not failed to notice."

"It's not...not what you think," he said.

"No? Then what is it?"

Varric sighed. "Complicated," he murmured. "A terrible idea. Something I shouldn't say."

Josephine heard Cassandra's breath catch. "A secret, then?" she asked.

"Sure." Varric sounded uncomfortable. "A secret."

"You promised you wouldn't keep those from me, not anymore."

"Yeah, well, this might be a secret I need to keep."

"Stop it." Cassandra voice snapped, and Varric took a step back. "You're being ridiculous. If you have something to tell me, then _tell me._ "

"It's not a good idea," Varric insisted.

"Tell me what you have to say, and then tell me why it is so terrible."

Varric swore under his breath. "You can't just let it go, can you?"

"If I could, would I be out here, still? With you? This is practically obscene, Varric. It is beyond inappropriate--"

"You're _leaving,_ " he said suddenly. Cassandra didn't respond. "You're going to rebuild the Seekers and I have to go back to Kirkwall, I can't tell you that--"

" _Tell me what?_ "

"That I love you," Varric said.

Josephine could hear the precise moment everything shattered.

"Varric--"

"It hurts," he said. "Maker, Cassandra, you have no idea how much this _hurts--_ "

"I do." Josephine dared to look again and found her pulling him closer, clinging to his tunic. "Varric, I _do_ , I love you, I--"

Josephine thought for sure they would hear her gasp of surprise -- Varric held Cassandra's face in his hands and suddenly _kissed_ her, kissed her like Josephine had never seen two people kiss before. 

And Cassandra kissed him back. She kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his chin -- and then she _breathed_ , and Josephine could hear every ounce of hurt that lived inside her come welling up, exhaled in that one moment. 

"When I thought you might be Divine, I was _sick._ " Varric practically spat the words. "And now you're going, and I have to figure out how to make this stop, because it's trying to kill me."

"It doesn't have to stop."

"But you _know_ that it does," he said. "Cassandra, you _know--_ "

"Please, don't do this to me--"

"Don't you think I want it? I want you all the time, I think about you every day." He kissed her again, held her close. "I've thought of a hundred ways we could abandon responsibility, pretend it doesn't exist. But you know what you want--"

"Why are you saying this to me? Why are you doing this--"

"I have to. _We_ have to."

Cassandra choked, sobbed, pushed him away. "Why must everything with you be absolute torture? Why would you _tell me_ this, and then--"

" _Dammit,_ Cassandra, you _said--_ "

" _I know what I said!_ " She stood now, gripping the fabric of her blouse over her stomach. 

Josephine thought she looked _wounded._

Perhaps she had been.

Cassandra fell to her knees, then, and Varric went with her. "It does not end, does it?" He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. "We could save this world a thousand times, again and again. And you and I would never get what we wanted."

"Maybe that's who we are."

"I _know_ who I am," she said, her voice piercing the pain of the moment, fierce in its delivery, proud in its message. "I know exactly _who_ I am."

"I know who you are, too," Varric said quietly.

"Yes." Cassandra finally stood, brushing the grass from her breeches. "I am the woman who so foolishly gave you my heart." She reached out to help him off the ground. 

"Does that make me the fool who let you take mine?" Varric asked quietly.

"It makes us both fools, I suppose." Cassandra turned away from him. Varric didn't move. "But I am not sorry for it."

"You never should be."

"I am only sorry that it took so long for the truth to come out." She turned back to him. "I am only sorry that...that it took me so long to know how I truly felt. How _you_ felt."

"Shit, Cassandra--"

"Good night, Varric." She turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the garden.

The scent of roses hung in the air, pungent and oppressive.

Josephine had never seen Varric cry, but she heard it, with her back pressed to the cold stone of the pillar -- she heard a single, heaving sob that was promptly stifled, and she heard the desperate intake of breath and the sound of his boots crunching through leaves, out of the garden and into the night.

Josephine slid down and onto the ground, a hand pressed over her mouth, as she cried in their stead. When she was strong enough to stand, she stepped into the garden, reaching out to pluck a rose from the bush, suddenly finding herself stuck by a singular thorn.

Blood welled up on her skin, silver in the moonlight.

 _How indecent,_ she thought, and left the garden.

She did not return until well after Varric had gone home to Kirkwall, and Cassandra had left to begin her task.

She still found the scent of the roses to be repugnant, and did not return after that.


	11. let them pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For three years, Varric waits. They don't change, but some things, with time, do grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't played trespasser yet so i get to pretend i don't know what's happening, even tho i'm like 800% spoiled. enjoy the hair porn.

It had been three years.

Three years since Varric had left Skyhold for Kirkwall. Three years since Cassandra had gone to rebuild the Seekers. Three years since they had departed as friends, and sometimes more, with the promise that they would let fate bring them together again. 

Three years that Varric had spent wishing he wasn't such a fool. 

Why did he always leave these sorts of things to time and happenstance? Hadn't he told _himself_ , a hundred times over, that he knew exactly how deep his feelings for Cassandra ran? Hadn't he promised that he wouldn't sell himself short on love? It didn't seem to matter. Cassandra was going to do what she wanted to do, and Varric had promises to keep that he _hadn't_ made to himself, and no matter where she went, Kirkwall was still his home. The Seekers were still her family. They couldn't put what they wanted in front of what needed to be done.

As much as Varric wanted to _scream_ , wanted to tear his hair out and tell her how much he didn't _want_ to do that anymore. That, for once, he wanted to put himself first. What he wanted first. He wanted to tell her that the rest of the world didn't matter, they would deal with it when it was time.

But he knew better. And when she told him it was time to go, Varric squeezed her hand, felt the cool press of her lips against his temple, and finally went home. 

He could bear to let her travel without knowing where she was. If he was going to mourn the loss of what they could have been, he needed to be able to place her. So the first letters arrived from Tevinter, where she was combing lost corners of the nation for her disbanded, extended family. Her writing style was short, punctuated by her colorful opinions of local customs and weather she didn't seem to care for. Varric wrote when he could -- while he remained relatively stationary, Cassandra flitted from place to place, and couldn't be relied on to receive his messages. 

For months bordering on years, the narrative of Varric's life was punctuated by Cassandra's heavy scrawl, her dry descriptions of Orlais and Antiva, her frantic scribble when she had found a new lead, or made new connections. Varric tried to keep up with her, but, eventually, she grew beyond him, into a woman he could only imagine knowing, hardly remembered touching. 

And, still, he loved her.

 

 

 

For three years, he missed her. He could remember her body under his hands vividly, the sound of her laughter in his ear, the way she said his name when she was angry, when her patience had run out. He even missed her fury, the rawness of it and the way it could strip him of his defenses. He could remember her, down to the last twist of her braid, and he often imagined himself coming back to the Hanged Man and finding her in his room, sitting in his chair, chewing the end of her thumb while she read his book. 

He imagined it, but he hardly expected it. Which was why it was such a shock to actually _find_ a woman in his rooms one evening, her back turned to him, the hood of her travelling cloak pulled over her head. He didn't recognize _this_ particular woman from his fantasies, though she certainly stood like Cassandra Pentaghast. Not a lot of women came to see him, or even spoke to him anymore, so Varric tried his luck, and would chastise himself for wavering later.

"Seeker?"

She turned, the hood of her cloak still obscuring her face, but it was her. Varric felt his breath catch, felt himself reach forward. He didn't want her to hide from him anymore. He didn't want her to be far from him, not now, maybe not ever. 

Cassandra was surprised by his boldness, reaching up to stop him, as if she didn't want him to see her just yet. But Varric gently grabbed her wrist, and breathed when he saw what she was hiding.

"Seeker, your _hair._ " It spilled down her back in thick, black curls, a great rope of it braided around her head like a crown. Cassandra flushed, reaching up to touch it, self-conscious under his gaze.

"I have...been very busy."

"So busy you couldn't take a blade to it? I know you."

She smiled. "I thought...well. Thedas is at peace. I thought perhaps I might be as well." 

"Cassandra."

"You do not like it."

Varric chuckled. "Oh, no, believe me. I love it. I'm just...surprised."

"Yes," she admitted. "So was I. But I have grown fond of it." She reached down and brushed her fingers over his cheek. "And you. You look the same."

"Greyer."

"It hasn't been so long, Varric."

"Maybe not so long, but a lot's happened." He sighed and took her hand on his cheek, pressed it to his lips. 

The brief interaction seemed to set something aflame. Varric found himself on his bed, the Seeker crawling over him, kissing his neck and cheeks. She looked down at him, the curtain of her hair framing her face, and Varric fell in love all over again. "You're beautiful," he said. "I don't think I used to say it enough." Cassandra laughed and leaned down to kiss him, threading her fingers through his hair. 

"You could say it again, if you'd like." She settled a knee between his legs and ground against his cock, gently. 

" _Fuck--_ "

"Is something the matter?"

"Tease. A beautiful tease, but a tease all the same." Cassandra laughed and kissed him again before she reached up and began letting her cloak fall to the ground and reaching down to take off her blouse. Varric stared up, in awed of the way her hair fell over her shoulders, long enough to cross down and cover her breasts. He sat up and pressed his mouth against one of her breasts, tongue circling a dark nipple, fingers ghosting over her sides. She pressed him closer, one hand behind his head. 

" _Varric--_ "

"Is something the matter?"

She looked down, edges and steel, and pulled away. Carefully, she removed her boots and breeches, standing naked in front of him. 

"No," she said. Not at all."

Varric felt the air leave his lungs in a desperate exhale, and he began the frantic process of undressing himself as she reclined on his bed, amused. "S'not funny," he muttered, tripping over a boot. Cassandra laughed anyway, and when he had finally rid himself of it all, she reached for him and brought him close, until he could bury his face in the dark curls on her shoulder, his hand sliding down to press against her slit, one finger sliding in. She gasped, and he stroked, gently, stealing a moan from her lips. 

"Three years," he said.

"Yes, I know, I--" She moaned again, closing her eyes as he pressed in another finger. "I have not--"

Varric paused. "No one?" he said breathlessly.

"No one," she answered. Eyes opened fast, hard. "You--"

"Only you, Seeker. There's only you, _shit--_ " He kissed her again and straddled her thigh, drawing out his fingers and pressing his knee against her cunt. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"I would prefer not to be."

"Then what do you want?"

She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. "You," she said. "I have waited three years. I will not wait a second longer."

Varric pulled back, urging her to roll over. Cassandra moaned, rising to her knees and dropping her head to the pillow. Varric stroked his cock, pushing her knees apart until he could brush his cock against her. She gripped the sheets, looking over her shoulder. "Like this," he said, and she nodded. "Cassandra--" He groaned and pushed his cock into her, slowly. It had, after all, been three long, dry, terrible years. He had been content to remember her, but this -- there was no substitute for the way her body fit to his, the way she clenched around him and took anything he could give. She was loud, vocal, needy, and Varric couldn't stop the noises that fell from his mouth as he abandoned any hesitancy and thrust, hard, hands clinging to her hips. 

And it had been three years, so it didn't take long for him to come, to spill into her with a shout as she frantically dug her fingers against her clit, buried her face in a pillow, and screamed his name.

 

 

 

"This is good fruit," she said, putting another piece in her mouth. Shortly after regaining what senses he'd had left, Varric realized Cassandra's stomach was growling. He had food brought to his room and she sat in his bed, naked, eating. It was...a sight. He wished he could paint. She'd tied her hair back and was trying to force him to eat some kind of melon. "Please."

"You just want an excuse to feed me," he said, and moaned when she slid her fingers into his mouth with the fruit.

She closed her eyes, letting him lick the skin clean. "Perhaps."

"Finish it later," he growled, and Cassandra nearly shoved the plate onto the floor, taking him into her arms. "Again," he murmured. "I need you again."

"Yes, Varric--" He fell back and let her straddle his waist. He was hard, aching for her again, and when she twisted her fingers around him, he hissed, looked up, and watched her lower herself onto his cock. 

" _Cassandra--_ "

"You cannot imagine. So long without you, I--" She dropped, hard, and cried out. "To think of you like this, to have only memories."

"Oh _fuck--_ " She had always been so good at drawing this out, and she reached down the squeeze the base of his cock, and Varric choked. "I need, I _need--_ "

"I have waited. I have waited so long." 

"Your hair," he said. "Take it down, let me see--" She did. She reached up and pulled it free and it tumbled over her shoulders -- Varric sat up, keeping her tight in his lap, gripping the curls in his hand. "Don't leave me. Don't go again, stay here--"

" _Please,_ you cannot--"

"Cassandra, come. I need you to come, now--" 

She threw her head back, and Varric felt it everywhere, completely, and he rolled forward to fuck her in earnest, to own and possess and claim because she was _his_ , he couldn't let her go, and he was _hers_ , and why would he leave her, why would they part, _why--_

 

 

 

_Why._

"You know that I cannot stay." She bent down the lace her boots, and she was so damn beautiful in the morning that Varric thought he might just crawl back into bed and do nothing for the rest of the day. "You knew this."

"I did," he admitted, even though she was well aware of how much he didn't want to.

"Varric, please do not look at me so--"

"Like a kicked dog?"

She sighed. "My love. It is not possible for me to stay."

"I know."

"There will be time, in the future. Time for us--"

"But not now."

Cassandra closed her eyes. "But not now." She sighed and stood, reaching for her cloak. "There is...something. Something you can do before I go."

"Alright." 

She reached into her bag and pulled out a short blade before reaching up to untie her hair.

Varric shuddered. "Okay."

 

 

 

She sat in a chair, naked from the waist up, and Varric took the blade in hand. "Don't hesitate," she said. Then: "Leave some. For--"

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. Seventy-eighth in line for the throne, and you still want a damn crown."

"It is dignified," she said. Varric put a hand on her neck, and she moaned. "Varric--"

"When you come back again--"

"I do not know." She remained still as he began cutting her hair, as he brought the blade close to the nape of her neck.

"Do you trust me?"

"This is _not_ a trust exercise, Varric--" He started laughed and she reached behind her to try and swat at him.

"You're too easy, Seeker."

"Ass," she muttered, but he could see her in the mirror above his dresser, smiling.


	12. what BABY?!?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a baby at the Exalted Council. Cullen would like to know how it got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story takes place in the same universe as "[a truth universally acknowledged](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4563198)" which, if you'll remember, is the one where varric and cassandra are married. you don't have to read it, but if you're into fucking with canon like i am, then please do. i couldn't resist the idea of someone bringing a BABY to the exalted council -- that being said, no real spoilers for "Trespasser" -- just me muddling around, pretending nothing bad is happening.

He spotted it first with the Chargers. 

The cry could not be mistaken -- it was a child, hardly more than an infant, for sure. Krem held it in his arms, tapping its nose while Bull made faces. They were all completely smitten, and Cullen wondered, more than once, where it had come from. He certainly meant to go and _ask_ , but he was distracted by the merchant with the mabari, and in his rush to rescue the pup, he forgot all about the baby. 

He was reminded again, later, when he caught Sera singing a song.

"Wee little sprout, grow up and about, somethin' 'bout bee wings--" She broke off in a fit of giggles, and when she spun around, Cullen saw the bundle in her arms, and he heard the crystal laugh, high and sweet. It plucked something inside him, and he was fully prepared to cross the little courtyard and have a few questions answered, but one of the palace guards interrupted him, and he became distracted once more.

Cullen didn't see the baby again until later, in the evening. He spotted Blackwall and the Inquisitor, reunited after months apart, huddled together on a bench. At first he thought they were whispering to one another, and he fully intended on giving them their privacy -- but then Trevelyan cooed, Blackwall gave a low chuckle, and he saw a tiny hand come up and rest its palm on the man's nose. 

"Little bugger," he murmured, and they looked at one another for a long while. 

Cullen felt that he'd been far too voyeuristic for one day, and went to find his new dog.

 

 

 

In the morning, the baby had changed hands again. He went looking for Vivienne and found her in the gardens with Dorian, sitting in the shade of a fruit tree, the baby on a blanket spread at their feet. He figured now was as good a time as any to solve this mystery, but Varric cut him off, looking around wildly and giving a grateful sigh when he spotted the two of them.

"Shit, if you wanted to spend time with him--"

"You asked us to babysit."

"I also asked you to stay where you were," Varric muttered. The baby began making panicked, needy little noises as Varric approached, and he bent down and said, "Hey, you, no one needs to cry." He hefted the boy gently in his arms until their foreheads met. "Your ma is asking for you."

"I suspect he's hungry."

"Probably." Varric turned and nearly bumped right into Cullen. He smiled. "Hey, Curly. Heard you got a new pet."

"I did. Where did this child come from?"

"Oh, you know, a dragon usually drops them off on your doorstep if you ask for one." Cullen frowned. Varric sighed. "I suppose you haven't been properly introduced." He looked at the baby. "Anthony, this is Curly. Curly--" He suddenly held the boy out and Cullen took him, surprised. "--this is Anthony."

Anthony was quite small, Cullen realized, with a pinched, curious face, and a shock of red hair. He made a soft chirping noise, and grabbed Cullen's finger, trying to gnaw on it. Cullen didn't know what to say, or really what to do. He simply stared, watching the child attempt to consume his entire index finger, until Varric laughed again and relieved him. "Seems like a proper enough introduction."

Cullen blinked. "This is...your son."

"He is."

"You and...Cassandra." _Of course it's Cassandra you dolt--_ "I had no idea."

"He's a fairly new addition to the family. The family being just us." He sighed. "I need to find his mother."

"Of course, I don't mean to keep you."

"Don't sweat it, Curly. We'll see you when the fun starts."

 

 

 

"The Chargers are _not_ suitable caretakers for our son."

"You said you needed some peace and quiet! You wanted to rest--"

"Yes, because I thought you were watching him--"

"Bull wanted to see him and then they just kept hogging him--"

Cassandra sighed and adjusted the strap around her chest. Anthony snuggled in closer, and Cullen could tell he was close to sleeping. Varric and Cassandra had been bickering quietly for fifteen minutes. 

It was an amusing distraction from the proceedings.

 

 

 

"Pardon me, commander, but there's been a bit of an...incident."

Cullen looked up from the makeshift desk in the makeshift office he'd created in a, well, makeshift attempt to be useful despite all of the politics. "What is it?"

"You should see for yourself, ser." The man saluted and Cullen sighed, standing and strapping his sword and scabbard to his waist. He followed a guard through the courtyard and onto a balcony. Cassandra was at the edge, one hand gripping the low stone wall, the other clasping her child. A few nobles stood some feet away from her. 

"Absolutely inappropriate. How _dare_ you expose yourself at the palace this way?"

"Typical of an Inquisition agent to do as she pleases."

"Typical of a _Nevarran_ \--" They seemed lost in their judgment, so much so that they weren't even _talking_ to Cassandra anymore. She didn't seem afraid, or even intimidated, but her expressions had always been difficult for Cullen to read. He reached forward and put a hand on her elbow, leading her away. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." Her voice was tight. "I was simply careless. I did not think--" She sighed, holding the boy closer to her chest. "I have been in Kirkwall too long. Things are different there."

"Were you--"

" _Cassandra._ " Varric appeared behind her, looking around for the commotion. "Maker's balls, what happened?"

"I upset a few nobles. I will find the Inquisitor and Josephine and inform them as soon as I've finished what I need to do."

"You pissed off some Orlesians? What happened?" Varric looked between the two of them, and Cassandra smiled.

"It is apparently not appropriate to breast feed at the Winter Palace. I will remember this in the future."

Varric snorted. "That's what this is about? Seeker, who cares--"

"I certainly don't, but I would prefer not to have people pointing and staring while I do so." She smiled down at her son. "Worry not, my love. Mama will take care of you."

Cullen cleared his throat. "Might I suggest the gardens? They tend to clear out in the evening."

"Oh." Cassandra smiled. "Thank you, Commander."

He nodded and gave a slight bow. "Of course. Pardon me, Viscount--" Varric snorted again. "I'll leave you to it."

"I dunno, Curly. We may need you to beat off anyone who comes near. Orlesians have an uncanny sense for when a chance for judgment might pass them by."

"I think Cassandra can handle herself."

Varric smiled. "Oh, she can. She certainly can."


	13. let's all laugh at varric because he's short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we making fun of Varric? We don’t get to do that often enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [9:35:15 PM] catchbooker: oh my god or during the wicked grace scene  
> [9:35:20 PM] catchbooker: YOU KNOW HE'S SITTING ON A STACK OF BOOKS  
> [9:35:23 PM] catchbooker: HE'S LIKE  
> [9:35:24 PM] antivanwoofles: AHAHAHA YES  
> [9:35:25 PM] antivanwoofles: SHIT  
> [9:35:27 PM] catchbooker: PRACTICALLY LEVEL WITH CULLEN
> 
> that's it that's the backstory for this. it's smol. LIKE VARRIC. who really isn't that smol but like, come on varric.

“I’m _sorry._ ” Dorian leans against the wall by the fireplace, watching Varric carefully stack an armful of books on one of the chairs at the table. It’s a decent enough setup, given the circumstances. Dorian hasn’t offered to help once, instead content to watch Varric huff and puff and shove tables together, before he carts up a dozen books from the abandoned library downstairs. “What _are_ you doing?”

“I’m uh, I’m putting these books here.”

“Oh? Do you intend to deal them in?”

Varric shifts his shoulders, goes into deflection mode. “Josephine’s dealing, you know that. Or would you like to do the honors? You did tell me last night you were _good at everything._ ”

“I meant in bed.”

“Of course.” Varric removes two of the books and observes his handiwork. “There.”

“Maker take us all, are you going to _sit on those?_ ”

Dorian desperately wishes someone _else_ were here with him, because Varric Tethras is, with no trick of the light, _blushing._

“I, uh. I can’t reach the table.” He clears his throat. “It’s not a _secret_ ,” he adds. “I just wasn’t going to mention it.”

“Yes, of course. Because the moment you could make direct eye contact with the Commander would have gone unnoticed by us all.”

“What are we talking about?” Evelyn appears behind Dorian, giving him a shock. Varric laughs, but he’s earned it. “Are we making fun of Varric? We don’t get to do that often enough.”

“Yeah, the joke is I’m short. _Ha._ ”

“You’re dwarfy,” Sera says, already half-way to being three sheets in the wind. “‘Course you’re short.” She takes a swig from a bottle and tries to find a chair to sit in. “Gimme one.” Varric tosses her a couple of his spares.

Dorian glances across the room and smiles. “Well you could always sit in Cassandra’s lap, I’m sure she’d be willing—” Varric chokes.

“I would _not_ ,” Cassandra says hotly.

Dorian laughs. “You don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

“I know enough.” She takes her seat. “Please stop attempting to extract a confession. It will not work.”

“You’re just worried he’ll turn out to be a better interrogator than you,” Varric mutters.

Cassandra scowls. “You would know, dwarf.”

Dorian sighs and sits down. Eventually, he’ll figure out exactly what’s going on between these two.

Eventually.


	14. fray/bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiles, and the quick beat of her heart begins to bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a self-prompt from tumblr, "those two things are not related."

He is sitting in the tavern, and she is standing on the other side.  
  
She is not watching, and if one were to accuse her of it, she would flee, excuses dying in her throat. The only one aware of her gaze is Bull, who is pretending he isn’t. It’s a charade they’ve both participated in a dozen times before. Cassandra watches Varric for a few moments, and then leaves the tavern. Bull pretends he knows nothing, and if Varric knows at all, he is just as good at their game as the rest of them.  
  
It is an unkind cycle, and cruel, too, if they are all going to pretend together.  
  
Cassandra wonders how long it can last.

 

* * *

 

“You’re fighting hard today,” Bull says, opposite her in the sparring ring. Cassandra grunts, and he blocks her swing with his axe easily. She is not herself today. “You’re keeping your feelings from Varric.”

  
“Those—” She finally spots an opening and manages to catch the Qunari off balance. “Those are not related.”  
  
“They are a little,” he says, and she nods in agreement. “C’mon, Seeker. You’re not the secret-keeping type.”  
  
She sheaths her sword and goes to get water from the bucket perched on the fence. Bull leans on his axe. “When I was a girl I broke my mother’s favorite teapot. She never knew it was me.”  
  
“Ah, now you’re getting sentimental. If you want everyone to think you’re such a cold, callous bitch you need to keep that shit bottled up.”  
  
He blocks her so quickly when she lunges at him that she finds herself sitting in the dirt a second later, seeing stars.

 

* * *

 

It is the third time she’s read the book. Cassandra keeps it in her room, tucked under her bedroll like a secret, though she isn’t sure why. He never comes here, and she doesn’t allow anyone into her space very often. But the book stays there, hidden away, and she reads through it every so often.

She is aware that it was nothing small, or easy. She’s aware that Varric wrote the next part of a serial he hates and gave it to her. She’s aware that it _means_ something – but she doesn’t know exactly what.  
  
“I think it’s a damned miracle you don’t walk into walls,” Bull mutters, and gets her another drink.  
  
“Is it foolish?”  
  
“All things in love are foolish?”  
  
Cassandra snorts. “I am not in love.”  
  
“I think you might be. A little bit.”  
  
She sighs, shrugs her shoulders, and drains her drink.

 

* * *

 

“Half the girls in the Merchant’s Guild are named Bianca. The rest are named Helga.” The woman laughs. “I lucked out.”

Cassandra looks at Varric, and his gaze is faraway.  
  
He leans toward Bianca, and Cassandra feels the edges of her heart begin to fray.

 

* * *

 

“Your form is bad today. Varric’s not in love with her anymore.”

Cassandra wants to _howl_.  
  
“Those two things are not related.”  
  
“I was there,” Bull says. “And I saw.”  
  
“You see nothing. You understand nothing.” She swings, and she knows he lets her hit him. “You don’t know me at all.” She shoves and he falls, caught off guard. Cassandra spits at the ground by his feet. “I am not yours to pick apart.”  
  
Bull looks up at her, lying in her shadow.  
  
“Then why do you make it so easy?”

 

* * *

 

He is sitting in the tavern, and she is standing on the other side.

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry, Seeker.” Bull puts a hand on her shoulder, and Cassandra doesn’t pull away. She turns to him.  
  
“Tell me what to do.”  
  
He chuckles. “You already know.”  
  
“Do you think…is it possible?”  
  
Across the room, Varric looks up from his papers, and catches her gaze.  
  
He smiles, and the quick beat of her heart begins to bloom.  
  
“Yeah,” Bull says. “I think it’s possible.”


	15. tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is Anthony’s birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk they're married or something

“Seeker?” Varric walks through the house, bolting the front door shut and unbuttoning his overcoat. He’s just been able to get the sounds of the budget meeting out of his head, and all he can think about is Cassandra’s legs and how he hasn’t put his hands on them in three days. He toes off his boots, but he still can’t hear her moving. He hesitates at the bottom of the stairs and looks up. “Cassandra?”

He finds her sitting at the foot of their bed, hands gripping her knees.

“You’re home,” she says quietly, not looking up.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Twelve-hour meeting marathon, you know—”

“I received your message, Varric. I am not angry.”

“What’s—”

“Did you know that when we were at Skyhold, I…I did not need to remember—“ She takes a breath, and the sound breaks him. “It is Anthony’s birthday.”

Varric sits next to her. “Shit.”

“Yes.” She finally looks at him. “It is…a silly thing. But I—”

“It’s not silly.” He takes her hand. “It isn’t at all.”

“I made it fine, but now that there is nothing to do—“ She pauses. “That is not what I meant.”

Varric laughs. “I know.” He squeezes her hand. “There’s time to miss him now. Time to remember him.” She nods. “Come on.” He stands and presses his lips to her forehead, holding her face in his hands. “Come downstairs and tell me a story about him. I’ll make you tea.”

Cassandra looks up. “I – oh.” She ducks her head and smiles. “Yes, alright.”


	16. roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, now. If you wanna give ‘em a show, Seeker, let’s give ‘em a show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for antivanruffles on tumblr to write fluff about varric and cassandra caught kissing. <3

It is the softest noise. A laugh, the rustle of fabric. A soft exhale. Varric looks up and she is smiling, so wide, and so beautiful. His heart hammers, threatens to burst from his chest. He has not known what it’s like to adore in so long.

And he does. Maker, but he does.

“You are staring,” she says, and strokes her thumb over his cheek. The scent of roses clouds his judgment, and he doesn’t answer. Not with words. He rises up to kiss her, steals her words and her breath and feels her melt into his hands. It is not the first time they’ve kissed – they’ve shared their moments in secret, hidden behind the locked door of his room, the shadow of an alcove. It is late, here in the garden. It is quiet. It almost feels secluded, though he knows quite well that it isn’t.

Cassandra doesn’t argue. She doesn’t look over her shoulder, or push him away. Instead she kisses back, threads her fingers in his hair and moans softly. It is a kiss that threatens to become more, but Varric pulls back, at just the right moment, his lips wet and warm.

Noses touching, lips still threatening to kiss again, they laugh. In their own little world, in their horded, private moment – they laugh. How often are they allowed these luxuries? The world is ending around them, and he has managed to capture the heart of the last woman he expected.  
He is _lucky_ , and beyond that, he is blessed.

“I love you,” he says.

A twig cracks.

Cassandra’s head spins and she rises up, nearly knocking Varric from the bench and onto the ground. He blinks through his surprise in time to see Dorian doubled over with laughter, clutching his side as the Inquisitor looks on amused.

Well. Shit.

“Oh, how I _do_ love being _right_ all the time,” Dorian finally manages, wiping a tear from his eye. “And it isn’t even my _naming_ day.”

The Inquisitor grins. “Insufferable, isn’t he?” Cassandra’s mouth works uselessly, a flush crawling over her neck. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t gossip to everyone before lunch tomorrow. Come on, Dorian, that’s enough of that.”

“Oh, I’m telling _everyone_.”

Varric’s stomach turns, watching Cassandra’s expression. She balks, and finally collapses again onto the bench, staring at her hands. She doesn’t look like she’s going to go into a murderous, stabbing rage spiral, but Varric’s seen calmer people do worse things. He clears his throat. “Seeker.”

“He will, won’t he?”

“Sparkler? Uh, yeah. Probably. I mean, to be fair, he called it months ago.”

“There is nothing _fair_ about violating our privacy,” she snaps. Groaning, she puts her face in her hands. “What ever will we do about this?”

“Pretend it didn’t happen? Sorry, that’s my default reaction to most things. I guess we could just…” Shit, Varric doesn’t know. He’s having a hard time reading her emotions, and a lot of what he’s getting is embarrassment. Is it him? Is she ashamed? She’s never acted it, she’s never been shy about how she feels, not once they got over those first few hurtles. What—

“We must take back our autonomy,” she says simply, and stands.

“What does—”

“Come.” She grabs his hand, beginning to pull him away from the garden and toward the tavern.

“Seeker, I’m pretty sure asking him not to isn’t going to work.”

“Varric. I love you, but please, be silent.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lets her drag him into the tavern where Dorian is sitting perched at the end of the table, waiting for an in to tell his story as Bull finishes up another summary of a Charger’s expedition. He spots them, and, for a brief moment, looks absolutely terrified – before he spots their hands, clasped together, fingers locked tight.

“Oh, _this_ should be—”

Cassandra turns to Varric and does exactly the opposite of what he was expecting –

She kisses him. Right there. Right in front of everyone.

Cullen _chokes_ , spitting ale a full yard in front of him. Blackwall gives him a hearty thump on the back, grinning ear to ear. Varric can hear Sera cackling, and Cole whisper, “She’s wanted to do this for so long.”

Dorian, to his credit, looks absolutely stunned. Right before he looks pleased.

“Well then. Couldn’t stand to have me steal your _thunder_ , could you Cassandra?”

She pulls back, looking down at Varric, who feels a little like he’s been petrified.

“I love you,” she says. “On my terms.” Then: “On _our_ terms.”

The Inquisitor begins clapping and Varric, finally coming to his senses, grins widely, grabbing her up and dipping her low.

“Come on, now. If you wanna give ‘em a show, Seeker, let’s give ‘em a _show_.”

And she laughs again. A beautiful ringing sound that Varric swallows with a kiss as the tavern around them erupts into drunken, elated cheers.


	17. bedmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cassandra.” He cups her cheek in his hand. “I’ve been sleeping alone for a long time. I might accidentally shove you out of bed a couple more times before I get used to it.”

They have not been sleeping together long.

Both had been hesitant to offer the other a place in their bed – Cassandra largely because she did not think the two of them could fit on her meager cot. Eventually, he offered, and eventually, she accepted.

It was not what she expected.

The first night she struggled to sleep and Varric – oh, the thought of how he calmed her nerves makes her blush, even to think on it now, so many weeks later. But it had been what she needed, and it became easier each night. She clung to him, sometimes, without realizing it, and he teased her in the mornings. She goaded him – it was better than his own habit, one that found her on the floor more than twice now.

“You _kicked_ me!”

“I didn’t kick you Seeker, don’t get your knickers in a wad.”

“Then how did I end up on the floor?”

“Not sure, considering you’re basically attached to my–”

“ _Varric_.”

He chuckles and reaches out to pull her in. “Hey, come here.” Cassandra pouts, but gives in, and she settles into his lap at his writing desk and kisses him. “See? All better.”

“Do not let it happen again.”

“ _Cassandra_.” He cups her cheek in his hand. “I’ve been sleeping alone for a long time. I might accidentally shove you out of bed a couple more times before I get used to it. _Not_ ,” he adds, “because I don’t love you. Because I do.”

“Of course you do.”

“Yes. Deeply. Madly. Truly. All those things.”

“For how long?”

“Forever and a day.”

She dips her head to kiss him. “And how much?”

“Through the Fade and back,” he murmurs. “Twice. Three times. As many as I’ll have to make it to keep you right here.”

She laughs. “I am not going anywhere, my love.”

“Except the floor. Sometimes. Completely on accident.”

“ _Ugh_.”


	18. red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person A waking up in the morning and turning over to tell Person B about their dream, only to realise that Person B doesn’t sleep in their bed anymore.

She dreams in red, too often for comfort. Dreams in wisps of smoke that choke and push and wind around her arms and legs until there is nothing left and she wakes in a terror, wakes grasping at the bed and rolls, always expecting him to be right there –

But he isn’t.

And Cassandra will not cry. She has been alone a long time, now. Years since the Inquisition came to an end. Years since she set out to do what she truly wanted. Years since he was lost to her – and yet.

And yet.

She is out of bed, pacing her small room. _How to overcome this, how to move beyond this, this endless, wasteful, need._ She has grown old, in her years alone. Soon, her task will be finished. They ask her to stay with them, but she will not.

She has a home, somewhere.

The book is in her lap without a thought. His neat scrawl in the corner – for you, seeker, as always – and she is dreaming in red and in wakefulness again.

_My love, my heart, my ache grows too great to bear alone._

The book snaps shut.

She will not succumb.

Loss has not drowned her before. It will not drown her now.

The tide, though. The pain. The wash of the sea.

She should go south, probably. Closer to the shore.

She should go.

_She should._

She will not.

She dreams in red, in wisps of smoke that –

 


	19. "i like this council. it's exciting!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are not spies,” Cassandra snaps.
> 
> “Seeker-”
> 
> “We are lovers.”

It is late when someone begins banging on the door to their makeshift war room. Trevelyan wrenches it open, not in the mood to deal with whatever these local guards continually decide is more important than what must be done – and finds herself face to face with Varric and Cassandra.

And the head of the Ferelden guard. Because of course.

“What is _happening_ right now?”

“I thought perhaps you might be able to tell me.” The guard shoves Varric and Cassandra into the room, and they both whirl around, angry, and begin shouting. At one another, at the guard, just in general.

“Get your hands off of her-”

“I am more than capable of dealing with this myself-”

“ _Balls_ , Seeker, I’m not trying to compromise your damn _honor_ -”

“These two were sneaking around-”

Then, together, “ _We were not sneaking around!_ ”

“Everyone shut up!” Trevelyan wedges herself between her friends, staring down the guard. “What do you mean, sneaking around?”

The man grabs Varric by the collar again. “This one was caught leaving his room, and they were both whispering in the hall outside of her door.” He fixes Cassandra with a glare. “You are _up_ to something, and the Arl will find out what in the morning.”

Varric growls. “I already told you, we’re not spying! If you’d shut the hell up for _two seconds_ -”

“We are not _spies_ ,” Cassandra snaps.

“Seeker-”

“We are lovers.”

The entire room goes completely silent, until Leliana laughs and breaks it.

Cullen clears his throat. “Right. So. We’ve, uh, cleared that up, then?”

The guard looks confused, and Varric takes the chance to wriggle free of his grasp, but his eyes are only on Cassandra.

Leliana steps forward. “You are excused, gentlemen.” The guards fumble for a moment before shuffling out of the room and shutting it behind them. “Well. You can’t say this council doesn’t continue to be interesting.”

“Why are the two of you sneaking around?” Trevelyan stands between them still, arms folded over her chest.

“We wanted to be together,” Cassandra says simply. The Inquisitor balks. “Ah, of course. You did not know.”

“Nobody knows,” Varric says. “Except Nightingale.”

“But…when?”

Cassandra sighs. “Some months ago. A year, almost.”

“More than that,” Varric says quietly.

“Has it been? _Maker_ , it has.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Forgive us, Inquisitor. It was not our intent to embarrass the Inquisition here. It will not happen again.”

“The _hell_ it won’t!” Varric steps between them. “I haven’t seen you in _months_. And after this, you’re just going to disappear again.”

“I cannot stay with you, I already told you.”

“Then be with me here.”

“We have caused enough trouble-”

“So that’s what it is, then? It’s trouble. It’s trouble for you to be with me here-”

“Do not put words in my-”

“ _Enough!_ ” Trevelyan is really getting tired of shouting. Especially at her friends. “No one is embarrassed. If…if you want to stay in the same room, then stay there. I don’t have time to sort this out, I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if you have sex in the damn _courtyard_ -”

“ _Please don’t do that!_ ” Josephine says quickly.

“Just…work it out, okay? We need to be united. I’d rather have a bunch of stuffy nobles talking about how they caught you two necking in the gardens before I heard rumors that we were splintering. Please,” she adds. “Just…go be together. Far away from me, for now. Not that I don’t love you. But, please.”

Varric chuckles. “Yeah, alright. Come on, Seeker. Let’s go scandalize someone.”

“Maker take you,” Cassandra murmurs, but she takes his hand when he offers it, and Trevelyan doesn’t miss the flush in her cheeks when he lifts her wrist to his mouth and presses his lips to her skin.


	20. scale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tiniest followup to the fic where varric gets turned into a dragon.

Some weeks after Varric is no longer a dragon, Cassandra notices the strangest thing. And she only notices because it takes them so many days between kisses and confessions to finally say, “I would like to be with you, I would like to let you in—” It takes weeks before Cassandra suggests it, because she knows he never will, and weeks before he locks the door to his room and kisses her stupid.

It takes weeks to go to bed with him.

“You sure?” is all he says, before she nods and pulls him in, kissing him back and digging at the sash around his waist. “Alright, alright, just—” He tips her gently onto the bed, kisses her neck, lets her push his tunic off his shoulders. And suddenly his body is taut, rigid, and he tries to pull back, but her hands are all read cresting his shoulders, trailing down, and then –

“Are these…are these _scales_?”

Varric looks embarassed. Cassandra puts a hand over her mouth.

“Ah, uh, yes. They are.”

“They…they have not—”

“Sparkler says they should go away. It was a lot worse right after.” He sighs, pulling back and showing her. Cassandra tips her head to look at them. They are not true scales, but they are rough, still ridging a part of his back, and the richest red she has ever seen.

“Do they hurt?” she asks.

“Nah. Not much.”

“Not much.”

“I mean, sometimes, yeah, it’s not exactly comfortable. Healer said I’ll probably have a back ache for the rest of my life, but I told her that probably wasn’t because I got turned into a damn dragon. I’m just—” Cassandra yanks him forward and kisses him again, laughing into his mouth. “My back pain is not fodder for your enjoyment, Seeker.”

“No, it is simply…you,” she says. “You are the strangest…strangest man I have ever—” She laughs again, unable to look at him. “You have scales on your back, and you simply shrug!”

“It’s not that funny.”

“But it is! It is incredibly funny.”

Varric raises his eyebrow and smiles.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t see me naked right after,” he says, and leans forward to press her against the bed. “I still had the damn tail.”

Cassandra cannot help but to dissolve into a fit of giggles – and if they do not make love that night because they are too caught up in laughing, then she doesn’t mind. There will be time, she knows. Time enough.


	21. want/have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You cannot take the hurt away like this, Varric. It will not die.”
> 
> “I can kill it,” he says. “Just like everything else.”

She should be punished for wishful thinking. That is the only thought she has as he stands there, her heart in his hands. Her persistent imagination can see the way it looks between his fingers, blood dripping, each beat slower than the last. It has always been this way with her – all, or nothing. _In for a penny, little dragon._ She shudders, and if Varric notices, he says nothing. She has opened this vein; she is the one responsible for any pain she should endure while it remains that way.

“I won’t do it again,” he says. There’s an incurable ache to his voice that Cassandra wishes she had the talent to heal. “I won’t…I won’t be that guy again.”

“I did not _ask_ you–

“You don’t really have to.” Maker be damned, how does his smile still hold so much promise, even now? Even now that he rejects her.

She never thought she would be here. Of all places.

“I…I will have the freedom—”

“To, what? To string me along? Let me think there’s something there? I’ve played second fiddle to a lot of people, Cassandra. But I won’t do it for the Divine.”

Fingers squeeze around her heart, choking the arteries, cutting off circulation. Pain shoots through her, fire under her skin, igniting bone.

“Would you want something like that?” he asks quietly. “Would you…would you want, after so much time, after feeling this way for so long—” He closes his eyes. “You are going to do incredible things. And I am…going home. I’m gonna go home, and I’m gonna figure out the rest of my life.”

“It will change nothing,” she says. “It will not change the way I feel.”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking kicker, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter what happens, doesn’t matter where we go.” He spreads his arms – Cassandra pictures her heart dropping to the ground, and it would take only one step for him to pulverize it – “The way we feel won’t _fucking_ matter.”

“Melodrama. You are so practiced at it.”

“You were the one who decided to say it out loud,” he snarls. “I was content with leaving it be. With burying it. But no. No, you had to make sure that I knew. That after months of knowing it couldn’t happen, knowing that the future would make us into impossibilities, you had to open your mouth and say it.”

“Would you have preferred that I not?”

“Yes, I would have fucking _preferred_ it.” She has never seen him so vicious, and it makes her clench her fists – around his own heart, she suspects, because he flinches.

 _Oh_. Oh, isn’t that –

“You cannot take the hurt away like this, Varric. It will not die.”

“I can kill it,” he says. “Just like everything else.”

“Disparage yourself, then. Disparage us. Have it your way. I hope you are pleased.”

“Yeah,” he says. He turns his back. “Pleased as punch, Seeker.”

Cassandra watches him go.

It is simply that way with them, she supposes.

Eye for an eye, breath for breath.

“ _Varric!_ ” She thinks he may not turn to her, but he does, face raw and open and she almost doesn’t say it, almost refuses to not add insult to injury – _In for a penny, little dragon._

In for a pound.

“I would want that,” she says. “If it meant I had you. In some way. In any way. I would rather ache for you, and now you ached in return, than never see you again.”

Varric stares, shoulders stooped, arms hanging limply at his side.

He finally shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.” He turns, and Cassandra breaths. “Not again.”


	22. chase and overtake you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then tell me. Tell me what you make of her.”
> 
> “The Seeker?” A sigh. The sound of a man collapsing into a chair. “That she is kind, and good. That she is clever and righteous. That her judgment is always sound from the start, even when wrong. That she is greater than I deserve, or will ever be worthy of.” A laugh. “That’s what I think of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a thing, rather open-ended. i kept saying i would write a more positive post-war revelation of feelings, just as they are about to separate. and they certainly do, but i hope you imagine to be a better one than other things i've written. i know i do. <3

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t we? If we’re to plan a service?”

“She’s not…she isn’t _mine_ to mourn, I don’t know why you—”

“Come now, Varric. Everyone knows how you feel.”

A laugh. The shuffle of a chair across the floor and the sharp _clack_ of glass hitting wood.

“No, you don’t.”

“Then tell me. Tell me what you make of her.”

“The Seeker?” A sigh. The sound of a man collapsing into a chair. “That she is kind, and good. That she is clever and righteous. That her judgment is always sound from the start, even when wrong. That she is greater than I deserve, or will ever be worthy of.” A laugh. “That’s what I think of her.”

“Varric—”

“She won’t die, you know. She will live.”

“It’s been _days_ , my friend.”

“I know. I just…think it’s true. I think what they say about heroes is always true. They never really leave us.”

“Would you write a book for her? Another, if she died?”

“Yes.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d have to exaggerate.”

“She’d appreciate it.”

Varric chuckles. “She would. But I’d rather she wake up.”

In bed, the Seeker keeps her eyes shut tight.

She has been awake for half an hour, but she is too exhausted to move, or even speak.

Varric and the Inquisitor leave her.

She smiles, and rolls to her back. The nurse comes. She is free.

 

* * *

 

“ _Varric!_ ”

“Seeker!” His face brightens at the sight of her – Cassandra flushes. It has been years since someone looked at her this way. “You’re _walking._ Walking and talking. It’s a post-war miracle.”

“Something like that, yes.” She folds her hands behind her back. “I had worried you might be gone.”

“Me?” She nods. “Nah. Freckles has some work for me yet, I can’t leave him behind. Kirkwall can wait. A few more days, anyway.” He rubs the back of his neck. “The roads are a mess, anyhow. I don’t think anyone’s getting out of here for at least a fortnight.”

“That is…alright, I suppose. I am glad you’ll be staying. If only to provide the manpower we’ll need to close the remaining rifts.”

“Well, sure.” He grins. “I love giving a demon a good kick in the ribs.”

“They do not _have_ ribs, Varric.”

“Figure of speech. You want a drink?”

“I shouldn’t, according to the healer.”

“All the more reason.” He extends his arm. “Join me?”

“I…well. Yes. Yes, alright.” She accepts, and he leads her into the tavern.

 

* * *

 

There are many post-war miracles, as Varric puts it. The rifts are closed calmly and efficiently, and the roads are steadily cleared. Cassandra makes a steadfast recovery, despite the morose conversation she has not quite had the nerve to tell Varric she’s overhead. The two make for themselves a comfortable companionship – she has no desire to embarrass him.

But the Inquisitor knows. He always seems to know.

Cassandra had thought war might age him, but aside from his _actual_ nameday, Maxwell Trevelyan has not aged much since the start of this all. He is a child, hardly twenty, and very much the same as he was the first day she met him, if perhaps a bit wiser.

For the most part.

“We _could_ , I suppose, if the trebuchet were large enough. But Cullen’s hidden them from me. I don’t think he trusts my spirit of ingenuity outside of constructing watch towers.” Maxwell pouts, and looks at Cassandra. “Could _you_ talk him into it?”

“Maker, _don’t_ listen to him.” Dorian puts a hand over the Inquisitor’s mouth. “ _Please._ I’d like him to meet my father in one piece, someday.”

“Yes, _someday._ I’ll be perfectly healed in twenty years, once you’ve scrounged up enough courage to drag your filthy Marcher lover into the Imperium,” Maxwell says brightly. He kisses Dorian’s cheek. “Which _reminds_ me of something. Cassandra, a word?”

“Of course.” She stands and follows him away from the hall and down the stone steps, into the now-empty yard. Since the roads have begun to clear, more refugees depart each day. “Is there something the matter?”

“Hmm? Oh, _no_ , no of course not. It’s only…well, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I feel I _must_ , in this case—” He turns to her and smiles. “I know quite well you were awake when Varric and I had our little _chat_ some days ago.”

Cassandra flushes. “I did not—”

“You were _exhausted_ , Cassandra. You took several pounds of stone to the _chest._ You are _lucky_ to be alive, which is as much as I told Varric, that day.” He sighs. “Cassandra, if you know how he feels, then why do you insist on pretending you do not? And you can’t tell me it’s because it isn’t mutual. I’m fairly certain it is, to an extent. I’ve also got a _fair_ bit of gold riding on it, so you _must_ tell me it’s true, or I’ll never be able to look Dorian in the face again.”

Cassandra laughs. “I…” A _laugh._ Maker, how often has she managed that, since this all ended? “I do, I think. I’m…not sure. I found it endearing, at the start, but I couldn’t quite determine my own feelings. Now I’m…more certain, I suppose.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It…means that I care for him. Almost impossibly so.”

“Ah, the blossom of love. How it grows in the face and adversity and…archdemons. Anyway.” He spreads his hands. “What’s stopping you now?”

“Oh. I…do not know. He will be leaving soon, I suppose. As will I.”

“So?”

“What is the point in admitting feelings when one is about to be separated by miles of land and responsibility?”

“Who’s separated by miles of land and responsibility?”

“Varric!” The Inquisitor grins. “ _Perfect_ timing. Could you please walk the Seeker to her room? I believe she’s feeling a bit light headed.”

“I am _not_ —”

“See you later, then.” Maxwell winks, and dashes up the steps.

They stare after him, until Varric clears his throat. “Ah, shall we?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Cassandra sighs as they head toward the forge, and in truth, she does feel rather tired. Recovery is, sometimes, rather slow. The ache in her chest returns every so often. “Will you be leaving soon?” she asks.

“In a week or so.”

“That…that is good. For your city, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s…kind of a shithole right now.” Varric pauses. “More of a shithole than usual.”

“Come now, you shouldn’t disparage your home so.”

“Oh? Should I take lessons on how to speak kindly of my home from you? Didn’t you once call Nevarra a barren wasteland of necromancers and _idiots?_ ”

“…I suppose you have a point.”

“I often do.” He smiles, stopping at the door to the forge and glancing up at her. “Can I pry, Seeker?”

“Yes,” she says quietly.

“Who were you talking about, with Freckles?”

“How…much did you hear?”

“Just that last part. I…well I guess it isn’t my business. I mean, who you…care for and share your feelings with is your concern, not mine, but—”

“Maker take you, Varric, it was _you._ Alright? Does it please you, then? To know?”

“I…don’t understand.”

“ _Ugh._ I will never understand why I have been cursed with such _confounding_ men.” She leans against the wall. “I…care for you, Varric. I am not sure what that entails, nor why I have chosen to do so. If you must know…that day, in the infirmary. When you spoke of me…I was awake.”

“You were.”

“I was. I could hardly _move_ , and the pain was unbearable. But I heard you.” She smiles. “I heard _every_ word.”

“Oh. That’s…well. That’s interesting.”

“I…is it? That’s all?”

“Yeah. It’s…interesting.”

“Interesting.”

“Shit, Seeker, what else is it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. Romantic, perhaps?”

“Does this feel like romance?”

“It _feels_ embarrassing. If you no longer have those same feelings for me, then fine. I am not so attached I cannot…recover myself.” She puts a hand on the door. “I…thank you. For walking with me. I find I do feel feint.”

“Aw, come on, Seeker. Don’t be upset.”

“I’m not.”

“Then look at me, and tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”

“No.” She closes her eyes. “I won’t lie to you.”

“Then I won’t lie to you, either.” He takes her hand in his. “I was worried sick when you wouldn’t wake up. I thought…I didn’t know what to think, honestly. The last thing I wanted to do was say goodbye like that. It seemed like a shitty way to lose you. Some rocks? An evil magister and his pet dragon?” He rolls his eyes. “Child’s play to you, Seeker.”

“You make me out to be something I am not.”

“When you _are_ that something to someone else, it doesn’t really matter, Seeker. You’re a hero. You’re incredible. You’re those things to _me._ And I wanted you to know. Then you woke up.” He shrugs. “I lost my nerve.”

“You?”

“Yeah, _me._ You have that effect, I think. You sort of make me a spineless, whiny little shit. I got drunk and complained to Dorian about it. I think Freckles knew before everyone, though.”

“Our Inquisitor is wiser than he lets on, I think.”

“I _know_ he is.” Varric scrubs a hand over his face. “So you…didn’t want to tell me.”

“It is not that I didn’t _want_ to tell you, only that I considered it…futile, I suppose.” She sighs. “You are leaving, and so am I. Why would I want to burden you with such a thing?”

“ _Burden_ me? Seeker, do you…when was the last time you felt _burdened_ by romance? By _love?_ ”

Cassandra frowns. “There has only been one time,” she says quietly. “And it has been quite a burden, I fear.”

Varric opens his mouth as if to argue, then says quietly, “I understand.”

“I suspect you do.”

“Then…what do we do with this?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

He laughs. “ _Nothing_ , she says. Like I can just…just _forget_ about it.”

“Perhaps I should have not said anything at all.”

“No. That wouldn’t have helped. I’m glad to know. I’m glad that you and I have come this far.” He raises her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I’m glad to know there’s a place for me in that heart of yours, Seeker.”

“It is not as kind and good as you think.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m certain it is.”


	23. the case for cross-species interaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is standing in the middle of a coffee shop, and the woman who saved his life is asking the barista for extra whipped cream on her neon pink, strawberry frap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk blame deadpool or something (i mean this is nothing like deadpool, but mutants!!! maximum effort! etc. this could become something larger, but i have like 80 projects right now and i am not adding more.)

Varric is standing in the middle of a coffee shop, and the woman who saved his life is asking the barista for extra whipped cream on her neon pink, strawberry frap.

But, hold on. _Back up._ How far? Let’s say…three days ago. That’s when he wrote about it, for the first time.

Varric is standing in the middle of the street. He’s lived in Val Royeaux for six days, and he’s ready for this summer to be over. Guest lecturing for the summer at a prestigious university is one thing – doing it while it’s over a hundred degrees out, with ninety-percent humidity, in a city that’s a known super-villain hot spot – let’s just say he’s ready to go back to Kirkwall. And no one ever _wants_ to go back to Kirkwall.

But he’s standing in the street, and whatever is rolling up the sidewalk toward him is _definitely_ about to kill him.

 _Well,_ he thinks. _I never really thought I was going to die with any sort of dignity._

And then a strong hand grasps him by his collar and _lifts him_ , right off the pavement.

“It is in bad taste to stare death in the face when you plan to do nothing about it,” his now favorite person ever says. Varric looks up, and _boy_ is she something.

The sun _explodes_ around her head like a halo, like those old manuscripts about the Divine. Her hair is short, with a thin braid wrapped around her head. She is obviously Inquisition – and that gives Varric a little bit of hope.

“I had a plan,” he finally says, pretending he sounds cooler than he feels. “You completely wrecked it.”

At this, the woman smiles, but her work is hardly done.

“Thank you,” Varric says quickly. “Seriously.”

“It is no trouble.”

He shakes his head. “No, it is. Who are you, what should I call you?”

She sighs. “I am Faith,” she says. “I am the Seeker.”

 

* * *

 

Insert some obnoxious fast forwarding noises here.

Varric is standing in the middle of a coffee shop, and the woman who saved his life is asking the barrista for extra whipped cream on her neon pink, strawberry frap.

Something gets _stuck_ , right where his words should go. He thinks it’s laughter, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s in danger of squeezing his coffee cup so hard the lid pops up, and third degree burns are not in the forecast today. He has a class in an hour.

She turns then – Faith, the Seeker, whoever and whatever she is – and she looks right past him.

 _Ah_ , he thinks. _Typical._

 

* * *

 

On occasion, Varric gives readings and talks in the downtown art center, free to the public. They pack in, trying to get a glimpse of the man who wrote _Hard In Hightown_ , _The Tale of the Champion_. The man who has awards and movie deals and a class about _his books_ at the University of Kirkwall. They pack in, and the third time he does it – she’s there.

She waits for him. She looks very nice.

“Hi.”

“So it is you,” she says, looking him up and down. “I saw your face on a poster. I wondered how you were doing, since—”

“Since an overpowered Qunari tried to run me over with a death machine?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’m down to one waking nightmare a week, which is good.” She frowns. “I’m kidding. I was already having those, no mutant Qunari required.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Yes it is. But I can be funnier. Let me buy you dinner, Seeker? Or Faith. Whatever you’d like to be called.”

She sighs. “You may take me to dinner. And I am called Cassandra.”

“Varric,” he says, extending his hand.

Cassandra smiles. “It is very nice to meet you again, Varric.”

He swallows. He could get used to her saying his name.

 

* * *

 

“ _Varric, yes! Yes, yes, yes_ —”

Insert obnoxious fast forwarding noise here, and he is fucking her from behind in his nice, university-paid for apartment, overlooking the canal that passes through the city. Varric honestly can’t imagine a better ending to his day.

Well, her not breaking the kitchen table would have been nice, but he supposes that’s what happens when you ask a mutant if you can fuck her brains out after two bottles of wine.

They recover pretty quickly, because when you’re _that_ turned on, not a lot of things can distract you. Varric stumbles back, and she falls into him, kissing him _hard_ , and they tumble into the floor. She swings her leg over his waist and slides _down_ , right onto his cock, takes him in one elegant thrust.

“D-don’t—” He groans as she clenches around him. “Don’t break me. Seriously.”

Cassandra laughs, moving again and sighing happily. “This is not my first time, Varric.”

“Yeah, well, you broke my table.”

“The university’s table,” she purrs, and leans down to kiss him.

“Shit, woman.”

“Yes,” she says, and begins to pick up the pace. “ _I know._ ”

 

* * *

 

Despite her care, Varric has bruises on his shoulders where her hands gripped him later in the night, and an incredibly painful, but also arousing, hickey on his inner thigh.

“Will you be late?” she asks.

“If you, uh, if you keep _that_ up, _fuck_ —”

 

* * *

 

She used to be a Seeker, it turns out. But they were stripping mutants of their powers, making them Tranquil.

Eventually, her conscious became too heavy.

“You still feel guilty.”

“I was complicit. I agreed with the process for a long while. I will never be free of my actions.”

Varric tucks her closer, rests his chin on top of her head as they sit up in bed, her fingers idly stroking his hip. “You’re a _hero_ , Cassandra. You saved me. You save people every day.”

She shakes her head. “You sound like Cullen, or the Inquisitor.”

“Both good people. I’m flattered.”

Cassandra sighs. “You have not watched the power and life leave a person’s eyes, and felt satisfied that you’d done it.”

“But you wouldn’t do that _now._ We all have lives we used to lead. No one is the same person now that they used to be, good or bad.”

She looks at him. “I have a hard time believing that about you,” she says, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I don’t believe there is a single awful bone in your body.”

He laughs. “Not true, but you’re sweet to think so.”

“But see? You call me _sweet._ No one has ever called me that before.”

Varric smiles. “No one’s ever felt the way I feel, then.”

“You would love me,” she says, sitting up now and straddling his waist. “Despite what I am.”

He frowns. “You’re _not_ a what. You’re a _who._ You’re a person, Cassandra. Mutant or not.”

She bends down to kiss him. “I should like to be as worthy of you as you believe me to be.”

“You already are,” he says, as they sink further into one another for another night.


	24. is everyone having fun without me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’re going to insist on bringing him up every time you speak, then I am going to insist you marry the dwarf when we return, if only so it will make some sense, my dear.”
> 
> Considering how silent the world between the mirrors already is, it’s quite impressive that it can only become more oppressively so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trespasser rethink.

Dorian has suffered through a great many things in his life – things he does not have to list or sort through to _prove_ anything to anyone, really. But he will sometimes go through the highlights, just to remind himself that he’s come quite far, really, in spite of it all. Honestly, he’s often times _too_ impressive for his own good.

But to suffer _this_ – to suffer another expedition where he must slog through the unhappily unresolved sexual tension of two of his companions – it is simply too much for one man to bear.

And he listens to it for quite some time.

 

* * *

 

“Varric told me you were quite happy in Tevinter, Dorian.”

“ _Did he now?_ ”

She shrugs. “His definition of happiness is loose, at best, and should be corrected in my personal opinion.”

“Oh?” Dorian has not quite turned around, so her expression is a mystery to him – but her tone is…telling. “And he listens to your personal opinion quite often?”

“When it behooves him,” she says, dryly, and stops to lean down and inspect a sigil in the rock. “Is this perhaps important, Inquisitor?”

Classic deflection, he thinks. And learned from somewhere. Cassandra is hardly as blunt as the sword she wields, but she was never one for clever subject changes.

That skill belongs to a certain dwarf, if he remembers correctly.

Varric is not with them – he’s back at Halamshiral, playing house with nobles for Josephine’s sake. He had looked disappointed for only a moment when he realized he would not be joining them, but Blackwall had been a good choice, and Trevelyan was really rogue enough for them all, so he didn’t fight it.

Unfortunately, being parted from him seemed to keep him ever in the Seeker’s thoughts – for she could not _shut up_ about the man. But, in the shade of a stone wall, Dorian took a moment to reflect, breathe, and take solace in the fact that at least he didn’t have to listen to the two of them smudge the line between banter and flirtation _completely_.

 

* * *

 

By day three, he’s beginning to wish Varric had come along instead of _Cassandra_ – anyone, really. It’s not that she discusses him every waking moment. It is only that each time her mouth opens – which is, truly, not very often – the first word out of it is _Varric. Varric this,_ and _Varric that._ It’s almost like he’s watching a play in some horrible dream, where he must see the actors repeat the same lines, over and over.

No one else seems bothered by it, and the Inquisitor occasionally responds with a question or comment, and Blackwall grunts his approval.

Dorian feels like he’s _becoming_ a part of the play, and only he notices.

By day five – he’s had quite enough.

“Do you know how Kirkwall truly fairs, Cassandra? Varric wasn’t very…forthcoming with his report.”

“It does well enough. Varric estimates fifty percent of the rebuild effort should be completed by this fall. He suspects the rains will halt—”

“Oh for the _Maker’s sake._ ” Dorian nearly tosses his staff to the ground, but opts instead to kick a very large rock. It does not move, and his foot suffers.

“Dorian.” Trevelyan turns and frowns at him, reaching out her hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “But I will go _mad_ with it all, truly.”

Blackwall makes a noise. “What’re you babbling about, ‘Vint?”

Dorian sighs, the lone actor upon the stage, and turns to Cassandra. “If you’re going to insist on bringing him up every _time_ you speak, then _I_ am going to insist you marry the dwarf when we return, if only so it will make some _sense_ , my dear.”

Considering how silent the world between the mirrors already _is_ , it’s quite impressive that it can only become more _oppressively so._ The Inquisitor clears her throat, bending down to inspect the offending rock, while Cassandra becomes so incredibly engrossed in a passing wisp of smoke that one might think she’d been staring at it all along. Blackwall remains unaffected, heaving the sigh of a man who has never quite had to time for _any_ of this, really, and joins the Inquisitor.

Dorian is _furious._

 

* * *

 

“ _Sparkler, you take your hands off of me this instant_ —”

“You sneaky, lying, self-absorbed, paltry little _Marcher._ ”

“Dorian!” Bull lunges forward to pull him off of Varric and Cassandra is sprinting towards them from the mirror, her face a contortion of anger and amusement – though from her they could often times be one in the same. Dorian drops Varric and pulls back, looking between them all.

“They’re _married!_ ” he shouts. “They’ve gone and married one another and I had not a single clue.”

Bull frowns. “I told you this.”

“Oh, you don’t get to play that card with me, you _insufferable_ oaf. Perhaps the letter was lost, Dorian. Perhaps you weren’t listening through the crystal, Dorian. Perhaps you’ve simply taken too many blows to the _head_ , Dorian!”

“I’m the only person here suffering any brain damage,” Varric snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Are you, or are you not married to the Seeker?”

Varric rolls his eyes. “ _Yes._ Are you happy now? I’ve probably got a concussion.”

“Do not be so dramatic,” Cassandra mutters, but she leans down and hefts him up, brushing the dirt from his breeches. “Dorian is only upset that you did not write him, which I _told_ you to do.”

“Yes, yes, you were right and I was wrong. Is that what you needed to hear?”

Cassandra shrugs.

Dorian is feeling ignored in his time of need and, frankly, he’s not enjoying it. Bull seems to notice and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you just admit why you’re angry about being out of the loop, _kadan_?”

He huffs. “I didn’t even get to _gloat_ about being right about it all along.”

“There you go. Let it out.”

“Oh, shove off.”

Varric chuckles. “Deciding not to write you was the best decision I’ve made in _months._ Look! He’s purple as a beet!”

“Varric, it isn’t funny,” Cassandra says. “I told you then, and I will tell you now, we must consistently practice honesty in our relationship if we are ever to—”

He tugs her down and kisses her, which seems to shut her up, for the moment.

“Have I told you how much I’ve missed you this week?”

She smiles. “You have, though I could bear to hear it again.”

“ _And_ that’s our cue,” Bull says, leading Dorian out and away from what he now realizes are their shared quarters. “I have to say, that was the best way you could have found out.”

“It was _not._ ”

“Nope. Far more enjoyable for the rest of us. Me, in particular.”

“You only have a good time when I’m _suffering_.”

“Yes,” Bull says, matter-of-factly. “I certainly do.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @ weatheredlaw, where you can send me prompts, but if you'd like me to see them sooner, just comment on the fic and I'll happily fill what I can.


End file.
